


While You Were In A Coma

by Yatzuaka



Series: 90s Movie Marathon [1]
Category: Thor (Movies), While You Were Sleeping (1995)
Genre: All The Tropes, Complete, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, crossover no one asked for!, humor?, let's be serious, one ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 43,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4331247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yatzuaka/pseuds/Yatzuaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been playing one of my favorites on a pretty regular rotation, and there is a sad lack of While You Were Sleeping fics, so this is my contribution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Hero

**Author's Note:**

> I've been focusing a little too hard on WL. I love that darn fic, and it'll get done, I just need some space.
> 
> *Don't own these characters (Hey-o, Marvel!), the situations I've put them in, or some of the dialogue (whoever owns WYWS, apologies for the liberties I've taken).
> 
> Playlist companion for this work can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLHMSRjJiAWwnEEO0MZkUVFhbTUoa82_wx) if you're interested.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor is Peter. With magnificent hair, instead of eyebrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one is clamoring for this, but I <3 WYWS so... 

So there you are. Perfect. I mean... ok, exactly that. You are. Absolutely perfect. Blond, blue-eyed, built like a freaking Greek God in an awesomely well tailored suit, walking up to my booth like the train station is a runway. 

You smile at me. You do that almost everyday, smile, and every single time you just about take my breath away. It's not really fair. I work for Public Transportation, wear my dad's old coat, a wool-esque hat, fingerless gloves and haven't had my teeth cleaned in two years, while you walk around looking like that.

And you're nice, too. 

At least, you seem nice. You're polite; you always give up your seat on the train. You hold the door for little, old ladies. You smile at lonely booth attendants.

Plus, you smell fucking fantastic.

In short, I'm in love with you. 

One day, you'll push the token through the opening, look up, smile at me, like you always do. What will set that day apart will be that you'll notice me. _Me_.

We'll fall in love, and we'll live happily ever after, and you'll take me to Florence, and...

I'm still kinda fuzzy on the details, you know, the _how_ and _why_ thing, but it'll happen. 

I should probably introduce myself. 

I'm Darcy Lewis. I'm 25. I live in Chicago. Work for Metra. Moved here a few years ago for college, but my dad got sick, and since there are so many excellent hospitals here, I stayed. We stayed. 

He fought hard, you know. But it was just too much in the end. He's at peace now. With Mom. People like to say stuff like that, or that they're smiling down on me, and it's a nice sentiment. I hope it's true. He loved her, truly, all the way to the end. It's a little scary to think about, that kind of devotion; unending, steady and bright as the sun even decades after she was dead.

Dad used to say mom gave him the world.

It was really a globe with a lightbulb stuck inside, but that's the kind of man my dad was. A romantic. Stubborn, proud and curious. Devoted.

He was all I had, though. I don't really remember my mom. I remember asking dad about her, begging to hear how they met or the story of their wedding day, and how Uncle Eddie got drunk and fell face first into the wedding cake. Those are pleasant memories and I cherish them.

I've been roped into yet another holiday in the booth; bribed with a fake Employee of the Month nomination (btw, there is no such thing, but I suppose, like gifts, it's the thought that counts) and a hot dog with too much sauerkraut eaten in subzero temperatures. I don't really mind terribly, and Jane's a good boss, caring, but it would be great to have a major holiday spent in the comfort of my own home. Besides, as Jane had danced around saying, everyone else has a family, and I don't. 

I still buy a Christmas tree, like I do every year, and I go a tad overboard, like I do every year.

I forget that it's impossible to get a 6' tree up the stairs, and that I have to pull it up four stories and through my window. For as much money as a Christmas tree costs, you'd think they'd deliver, especially since $15 gets you Chinese food at your door, but whatevs. I'm a grown up. I can do this. Again.

It's going swimmingly, and I see the top branches poking up over the edge of the window. A bit more pulling and I've got it. 

Unfortunately, the terror known as Mogwaii, aka my cat, darted between my legs, as I shifted to get a better grip. I slipped on the coiled rope at my feet, my hands unclenched and the tree went flying. Right through my landlord, Mr. Fusco's window. Shit. 

He's cool, though. He just ribs me a little, but eventually tells me that he pays insurance for a reason, and besides, his cousins in glass, and will give him a great deal. I don't let on how relieved I am, because the tree was definitely a splurge, and I would have been eating Cup O' Noodles for a month if I had to pay that. 

I give Mr. Fusco his gift, and he blushes and stammers that he hasn't gotten to his shopping yet. I'm not expecting anything in return, just showing my appreciation for his many small kindnesses. 

I'm about to make my escape before I'm roped into a family dinner I'd rather not attend, when Joe Jr, son of Mr. Fusco barrels into the room. He's looking for a bottle he can re-gift, so intent he doesn't notice me while he crouches to peer into the liquor cabinet. Mr. Fusco comments, again, about how odd it is that some nice girl hasn't snapped up his son. I murmur something I hope sounds like bewildered agreement, while getting a good look at Joe Jr's plumbers crack.

On my way out, Joe Jr makes noises about taking me to the Ice-Capades. Not going to happen. I'm polite, but no. Thank you. Busy. (Until the end of time.)

The tree is bigger than I expected, when I finally get the thing wrangled into place. But it's nice, and it smells like Christmas. I decorate it, flinging tinsel on it as a final, tacky touch once the lights and glass balls are in place. 

I toast to a job well done, with the eggnog I doctored up with a little too much rum. I don't really like either, but it's tradition, and it reminds me of dad. 

* * *

So there we are, both of us working on a Christmas Eve. You're wearing a jaunty red scarf, and a long navy coat that goes wonderfully with your eyes. Tendrils of your hair are blowing in the wind as you walk up to my booth, and the cold wind coming in off the lake has made your cheeks red and your eyes bright. If you weren't wearing another of your fantastic suits, I'd think you were ready for the slopes.

You slip a token under the window, "Merry Christmas," you say. God, your eyes are blue. I sigh and giggle as you walk away, before I realize. You spoke to me. Words, real actual words. 

And I said nothing. God, I'm a loser. "Hi, I'm Darcy," or "Same to you," or even "You're the best thing since sliced bread," would have worked. "Love you," I say as you walk away, down the platform to wait for the train, and bang my head against the counter. 

It's pretty dead; it's early yet, and sensible people are indoors, with friends or family, warm and snug. I'm not jealous, since I get to watch you, for a little while, anyway. You pace back and forth, to keep warm probably, while you wait for the 8:05 to sweep you away. 

Suddenly three teens surround you, flicking your scarf, pawing at your brief case. You're a big man, but they push you around. I have a bad feeling about this, so I push the button to summon security from whatever cave they're hiding in, but it's too late. You've backed up, and tried to not engage, but it's for nothing. You tumble over the edge and disappear on the tracks. 

I'm out of the booth so fast, I don't remember opening the door. The teens run in the opposite direction, swarming briefly around me while I rush to where you were standing. I look over the edge, and there you are. Sprawled on the tracks. I glance around, but it's just me, so I disregard common sense and leap down to kneel next to you.

There's a cut over your left eye, and the beginnings of one hell of a knot. I tap your perfectly sculpted jaw, trying to rouse you, but, no. You're out like a light. This wouldn't be an issue, in fact, I'd be content to sit here tending your wounds, if the Express hadn't been scheduled to arrive any moment. 

The horn sounds exactly on time, and I look up. Shit, we're out of time. I smack your gorgeous face, but to no avail. I will not let you die, so I grab the lapels on your coat, summon every ounce of my strength and roll to the side. 

By some miracle, we end up on the other track, the wind from the passing train fluttering our hair and the horn sounding insanely loud in my ears. 

I did it.

I saved you.

 _God, you smell great_ , I think, as your eyes blink open. "My hero," you say softly, before you promptly pass back out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly seasonally appropriate, but who cares?
> 
> Thoughts, anyone?


	2. Fiancee?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein we meet the family. Most of it, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I guess you guys like Sandy B as much as I do.

I'm pretty sure I'm not making a lick of sense when I call Jane, but after a great deal of _What?_ 's from her, I finally manage to convey that there's no fucking way I'm going to stay until my shift is over after what I have been through.

At this very moment, I don't even care if I get reprimanded. Fire my ass! Be my guest.

I am going to the hospital, and no one is going to stop me. 

No one tries to; in fact, Jane insists I go, which seems a little anticlimactic. One of the cops ends up giving me a ride to the hospital in a squad car. I get to sit up front, and flick the switch for the siren as we follow you in the ambulance. Truly, it's a day of firsts. 

The scene at the hospital is chaotic and I run to catch up to you as they wheel you through Admissions. A doctor looks you over, while you're momentarily at a stand still.

"CT scan," he says, and they push you towards a set of doors. I follow automatically, even though you're just _some guy_.

But you're not. You can't be.

The doctor blocks my way, glancing between you, the charts that someone has just handed him, and me before he asks if I'm family.

"No," I say, and he responds almost instantaneously "Family only beyond this point."

The doors close in my face, and I watch through the handy windows as you're being pushed down a very sterile, white, downright grim looking hallway.

I hope you'll be ok.

Please be ok.

"I'm gonna marry that man," I tell to the closed doors I'm facing, to reassure myself. 

I turn around, spot the Information desk, and make my way through the crowd.

I really hate hospitals. Sometime in the last year and a half, I'd forgotten exactly how much, but standing here, trying to wring information about your condition from the gorgon manning the desk, it all comes back. The smell, the sounds, the sense of frustration and anguish that hangs in the air like a particularly foul miasma.

"I saved him, the blond gentleman who just came in. With the head injury? I just want to know if he's going to be alright," I try to explain, but she will only say that she can't help me with that.

I'm not going to scream at her for not violating HIPPAA, but goddamnit I just want to know if you're going to live. I deserve that, I saved you.

Someone taps my shoulder, and I turn to see one of the nurses who had been there while you were being admitted. She tugs my sleeve and tells me confidently to follow her, and I do. Through those doors, down that dismal-looking hallway and up the elevator to the third floor, ICU. 

The hush of Intensive Care Unit is somehow worse than the noisy crush of the waiting room downstairs, but I ignore the anxiety I'm feeling and rush to keep up with the nurse.

You're laying there, immobile, pale, machines beeping your slow, steady pulse. I feel bad for thinking that even like that, with a ridiculous and bulky bandage wrapped around your head, you're still the most handsome man I've ever seen in person. You always have your hair pulled back when I see you - so seeing those _silky, golden locks spilling across your pillow_ , is fulfilling a few fantasies, I'll be honest.

I have to restrain myself from reaching out and touching it, running the strands between my fingers.

"You can stay for a few minutes," the nurse says, and suddenly I'm blinking back inexplicable tears. "He's gonna be fine, Hon," she pats my back consolingly, and leaves me with you. 

Now that I'm here, what do I do? Weird perving and, if I may say so myself, damned heroic ass-saving aside, we're complete strangers.

I glance at your wristband, since I still don't know your name.

_Odinsson, T._

T.

Trevor? Taylor? Thomas? Surely not Timmy.

I'm feeling increasingly out of place, standing there watching you sleep, like some sort of creepy, perverted stalker, so it's probably time for me to make like a chip and dip. 

Before I am able to, however, a mass of people crowd into the room with me, all of them talking loudly over one another. A giant of an older guy with a massive beard and an eye patch glances around the hospital room, sees me cowering in the corner, in my slightly ratty coat, and asks in a voice loud enough to cut through the chatter, "Who's this?"

I mutter, "No one," and try to slink from the room, but the nurse who brought me here has magically reappeared, and she says, "His fiancee." Suddenly there's no more noise. I'm pretty fucking stunned by this blatant untruth, but not as much as everyone else. I find myself wishing for a pin, so I could drop it.

"She saved him," the nurse blurts.

And the room erupts.

 _Fiancee?_ I have a chance to think before Pirate Santa wraps me in a hug that lifts me off my feet, as questions and exclamations come at me from the rest of the group.

"You saved my son?" He asks, as he puts me down. 

I nod, and a lovely, red haired lady sweeps me into another embrace, "Thor is so lucky to have you, dear. Don't mind the family. We just weren't expecting this, you. He never mentioned it, but we haven't spoken lately. I'm sure he was getting to it."

She says the last bit loudly, making her voice heard over the excited babble of all these strangers, which, of course must be your family.

I can't quite even process what's happened.

And your name is _Thor_?

 _Really_?

The nurse has dashed off, and I am left with this enormous lie and all the relieved and grateful comments and looks from these people.

There's only five of them, but they're all so fricken huge, it seems like there should be, like, _thousands_. Even the old dame with the white hair and finely lined face, who is easily the smallest of the bunch, towers over me at least 5'10". I guess your stature is a familial trait.

I am not succeeding at containing the panicked giggles, as I look around at the five faces that are suddenly looking at me like I _mean_ something.

"What's your name, dear?" White-haired Lady asks me sweetly, as she leans forward and braces herself on a bangin' silver-tipped cane.

"Uh," _Shit!_ "Darcy Elizabeth Lewis."

My mom was apparently a huge fan of Pride and Prejudice, and saddled me with that name without thought for the consequences. And my dad, being the hopeless romantic that he was, went along with it. I usually don't give my full name, and it's a testament to exactly how rattled this whole situation has me that I do. I stick my hand out to introduce myself properly, hoping that no one will notice how sweaty my palms are.

She bats my hand out of the way, and wraps her arms around me. 

You're obviously aware of their proclivities, but man, I am in no way prepared for how much your family hugs.

"I'm Hilda, dear. The grandmother," she points to the tall, stately redhead, "That's my daughter, Frigga. And her husband Odin."

She must've seen me trying not to smile, because she winks at me, "Ridiculous, isn't it? But wait, there's more! My lovely granddaughter, Sif, and that old rascal over there is my oldest friend, Heimdall. We just call him Dahl. He hates it!" she says, laughing, and sounds just positively delighted. "And you'll meet Loki at dinner tomorrow, of course, he's the younger brother."

I balk, because it's really too much, but they all look so expectant, so excited. I have no idea why. I'm not going.

Another round of hugs, and everyone says some variation on _So glad to meet you, sorry it was under these circumstances_. Mr. Heimdall follows me out, and I'm sure it's to warn me away, to tell me that I might've fooled the rest of the family, but not him. I stick my hands in my pockets so he won't see them shaking.

As we exit the hospital, he just says that he hopes I change my mind and join them for dinner. "They need this," he says, dark eyes shining, "something to distract them from all this."

But apparently I am going to dinner, because after that masterful guilt-trip how can I say no?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments, guys! It's been wonderful to hear from you all.


	3. Ill Advised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello awkward family dinner!

I'm not a liar. Usually, I'm pretty much scrupulously honest. Which is why I've come back to visit you. I'm sorry for not clearing up the misunderstanding. I should have. Absolutely. No excuses.

I just... let myself get swept away in the fantasy. Your family seems so _nice_ , and God, I've had this enormous crush on you for months. I'll explain everything at the first opportunity, swear. In the meantime, I'll just sit here and keep you company. It's not your fault you're stuck in this awful place, alone on Christmas Eve, and it's not like I have anything better to do. 

I'll leave soon, but it is fucking freezing out there, so I hope you don't mind if I warm up a little first.

* * *

I wake up drooling into your blanket, and am thankful, momentarily, that you're in a coma, and couldn't possibly care. I'm getting too old to wake up from a night spent hunched uncomfortably in a hard hospital chair without a slew of aches and pains. Stretching doesn't help much, but maybe walking to a coffee shop will loosen the tightness in my back.

I take a long look at your peaceful, perfect face and leave your room.

I look around for the nurse so I can ask her what the hell she was thinking, but she's apparently not on shift today. Lucky her. Ah, well, my shift is only for a few hours, and I'll get double time and a half, so I shouldn't complain too much. I better get out of here before your family shows up. I'm not quite up to facing them while I'm still all crusty with sleep.

As I walk towards the bank of elevators, a nurse carrying a box comes up to me and asks, "Darcy Lewis?"

I nod dubiously. He hands me the box and grabs a clipboard off the top. 

"The fiancee? Of," he looks at the form on the clipboard, "Thor Odinsson?"

"Well no, not exactly, I'm not even-,"

But he cuts me off, "Look, I'm really short-staffed today, and I don't really care what your relationship status is _exactly_. Can you just take his stuff?"

He doesn't even wait for me to respond before he shoves the clipboard at me, and I'm left juggling the box and the clipboard and a pen. I manage to make a scribble on the bottom of the form, and the nurse snatches it out of my hands and dashes off without so much as a _fuck you very much._

I'm muttering to myself, because my shift is starting soon, and I really don't have time for this shit. Repeatedly mashing the elevator call button doesn't actually make the elevator get here quicker, but it makes me feel better, so I do- over and over, when someone taps my shoulder. 

"What now?" I snap and turn around. 

"You're Thor's fiancee?" A man in a very nice coat and an old T-shirt asks. He sounds so incredulous, like it's unthinkable that you would be remotely interested in me.

"You know what? _Fine_. Yes, I am his fiancee," I say, sarcasm dripping from every word.

The elevator dings as he introduces himself as one of your colleagues. He seems to think that is somehow of interest to me, and it's really not.

"Oh," I say. I'm not trying to be rude, but I'm running late, my back is fucking killing me, and I'm still not sure what I'm supposed to do with this box of your crap.

"The way you said that," he says, and looks disgruntled, "Did he say something about me? About it?"

I let the doors slip shut without entering the elevator, and face him. 

"No, sorry, I think you're misunderstanding-,"

"It was an accident, ok? Did he say something different to you? He told me it was no biggie. Look, I'm a lawyer. I carry a pencil-,"

* * *

Work is work. Mindless, cold monotony. It's both takes forever and no time at all, but before I know it I'm in a cab speeding through Chicago to the 'Burbs.

I left second and third thoughts behind before I even got into the cab. I'm now on like second thousand thoughts. Or something. I don't even know what I'm doing here.

Your parents house is straight up adorable, a picture perfect image of a family home decorated for the holidays. The lights twinkle merrily and a plastic Santa, complete with sleigh and reindeer, waves cheerfully from the roof. I'm pretty sure someone had put an eye patch on Santa, and it's just so darn cute. Your family is something else, man.

I'm clutching a Christmas Cactus I've been successful at not-killing for a few weeks and a bag of premium quality artisanal cookies I had originally planned on eating for breakfast tomorrow, but I stuck a bow on the pretty packaging and brought it with as a gift. I may now be an orphan, but I was raised never to show up to a party without something for the hosts.

I should close the door- the cabbie is muttering obscenities and how much he loathes the holidays. I can't say I blame him. I slam the door, and the cab speeds off into the night.

I don't think I have ever been so intimidated in my life.

I don't belong here. I start to turn around, ready abandon the stuff in my arms to run after the cab, but Heimdall steps out of the shadows next to the front steps and greets me with a hearty "Hello, so glad you made it! You're not planning on running away just yet are you?"

I flush, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Heimdall. No, I was just, uh, admiring all the seasonal decorations. Why're you out here in the cold anyway?"

I walk up to the steps, and smell cigar smoke in the air. He waves a stogie in the air, shrugs, "I don't like smoking in their house. And I wanted a chance to talk to you."

I've always thought that the word foreboding was a little dramatic, but that's what I feel right now. Ominous foreboding. It must show on my face, since he says, "It's just that... I was there last night. I know you're not really Thor's fiancee. No, no, let me finish," he interrupts my panic.

"I'm an old family friend. From way back in the day. Served with Ox, Hilda's husband, was there when they had Frigga. Was there when she married Odin. They were there for me when I lost May, my wife, years ago. I'm the godfather of Thor and the rest of the kids. Listen to me, calling Thor and Loki or even Sif, who's off to college next year, kids. This is hard on them, Thor being laid out like this..."

I feel awful, and wish I'd never come. I realize that in my haste to grab gift-like items, I've left the box of your crap on the living room floor in my apartment. I wish for it desperately, so I could hand it over, slink off into oblivion and never show my face again, "Oh god, I'm so sorry, I never meant for it to get this far-,"

"You're actually kind of a godsend, Darcy. I know it might not seem like it, but Hilda has a bad heart, and this engagement is distracting her from the worry. Look, for now why don't we keep the truth between you and I? I'll tell them later, when the time is right."

I'm shocked.

"It's ok, I'm too old of a friend to kill," he says with a wink. "Just go along with it for now. Besides, it's Christmas. We'll eat and drink and be merry tonight, and sort out all the rest later."

I'm not so certain that this is a feasible, much less good, idea, but what do I have to lose? Dignity? Whatever. It's not like I have boat loads of that anyway. "Alright, if you're sure, Mr. Heimdall?"

"Yes, and call me Dahl. You're practically one of the family now."

The front door opens, the bells in the wreath jingle, and Frigga pokes her head out. "What are you two doing out here? Come in! It's freezing out here."

I'm nervous now in a way I wasn't before, but there's nothing for it, but to gird my loins and enter your parent's house. Frigga takes my coat and scarf and hands them to Sif to hang up.

"I'm sorry Darcy, I forgot to ask what you like to eat," she says and hugs me. I mumble that whatever is better than the frozen dinner I had planned for tonight, and she purses her lips and pats my cheek. 

I'm momentarily stunned by how Norman Rockwell perfect the inside is. It's not just the Christmas tree and decorations, or how amazing the house smells, or even how cozy and warm it is, despite its size. It's how welcoming it is. I'm hugged repeatedly as I'm herded to the dining room. 

There's a place set just for me, my name written in gold calligraphy on a card on a plate. I ask if there's anything I can do, but Frigga pushes me into the chair, hands me a glass of wine and tells me to sit and relax. Odin is seated at the head of the table, and I catch him slapping Frigga's ass as she walks by. He winks at me, "Forty years, and she still revs the old engine." 

Somehow, I find this oddly sweet and charming.

Before I know it, everyone is seated, with two chairs conspicuously empty. I remember that you have a younger brother and wonder where he could be. The table is practically groaning under the weight of the bounty of food. It's not every day, hell, it's not every year, I get a home-cooked meal like this. I eat more than I thought possible, partly because it's all so good, and partly to keep my mouth occupied.

Despite my precautions, I still end up answering a metric fuck-ton of questions, though. About you, and how and when we met. At the train station, September 24th, you were wearing your navy double-breasted suit. Which is all true. Just not how they think.

When we migrate into the living room, your family opens their presents, and it's lovely to be a part of this. The happiness, the closeness, even if it's just for a little while. Someone hands me a wrapped box, and I open it as the chatter and laughter swirls around me. It's a scarf, soft and fragrant, and it gets the waterworks going. I wipe my eyes, and think that you must be luckiest man alive.


	4. Good Morning, Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten about Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to grandmas. They're the best. 
> 
> Also, the worst.

I wake up to voices whispering, and it takes me a second to place where I am. I have got to stop passing out in places that aren't my bed, I think as I remember the feeling of drowsy contentment after desert and yet more wine. 

At least your parent's couch is big and fairly comfortable, but I'm still wearing my party sweater and skirt from yesterday, and my bra is digging into my ribs and my chest like I owe it money. I roll over, and sit up, groaning. I know it's early, but it is definitely past time for me to hit the road. 

I root around behind the couch, find my purse and use an app on my cell to order a cab. It should be here in fifteen minutes, which will hopefully give me plenty of time to get home, feed the Beast, shower and change for work. 

Sif sticks her head into the room, sees that I am conscious and drags a man I recognize from a bunch of the pictures on the mantle, into the room after her. She's grinning from ear to ear, her short, dark hair a spiky mess, as she stops in front of me, and slings an arm around my shoulders. "Coffee?" she asks.

I'm feeling especially diminutive with her boob pressed into the side of my face, but it seems the only way to escape is to answer, so I say yes, and she darts out of the room, giggling. 

"Loki?" I ask, holding my hand out, feeling the redness creep up my face. Is your entire family exceptionally good-looking? Loki, and it is definitely the Loki, your previously goofy, bespectacled, skinny younger brother who'd once had a mouth full of braces, who is prominently featured in a good portion of the pictures from that hang here and there on the walls throughout the house.

He seems tired, with dark circles under green eyes, and tufts of black hair springing out from his ponytail. Even slightly run down, there's something about the way he moves that is, well. Never mind, you're family.

"Uh, yeah," your brother says, "You've got me at a disadvantage, though, since I have no clue know who you are." 

"Darcy," I respond and let my hand drop when it becomes apparent that he's gonna leave me hanging.

He looks at me like he has no idea how I'm there, or why, and honestly, the feeling is entirely mutual. I don't know how I ended up here, either.

Sif barges in again, "She's gonna marry Thor!" she almost squeals, and hands me a mug of coffee. "I forgot to ask how you wanted it," she says as she digs through the voluminous pockets of her fuzzy robe. Holding out a handful of sugar packets and little plastic creamer containers, she must see the bewildered expression on my face, "Nan, God bless her, steals all the condiments at diners." 

Loki chuckles and catches his sister's eye, with an unmistakable expression of fondness on his face, "Oh god, remember when we all went to Golden Corral that time, and she brought all those little baggies, and filled her purse with mashed potatoes, limp asparagus and meat loaf? Priceless."

Sif laughs giddily while I open a creamer and tip the contents in the cup, along with two packets of sugar, "I still don't know why she wanted five pounds of instant mashed potatoes, but by God, she was gonna take them come hell or high water."

Sif grabs the empties out of my hand and takes off again, leaving me with your once again very skeptical brother.

"So, you and Thor, huh?" he asks, and I can hear the doubt lacing that statement.

"Yup," I say, and take a sip of the coffee. It's wonderful.

"No offense, but you don't really seem like his type."

It's funny how whenever anyone in the history of anything prefaces a sentence with _No offense_ , you're pretty much guaranteed to be offended. I take a moment to gulp coffee, scalding my tongue, before I answer.

"I get that a lot," I tell him, somehow finding the inner strength to not roll my eyes. I put the cup on the coffee table, making sure it rests on a coaster.

My phone is back in my purse, and I shove the little box with the scarf in there, as well. I head for the door, grabbing my coat from the banister, and turn to face your brother as I struggle into it.

"Nice meeting you," I say, and even though I had intended for it to come out sincerely, it still ends up sounding extraordinarily snarky.

"Oh look," Hilda says from the top of the stairs, startling me, "You're under the mistletoe!"

Your Nan is a sadist.

I buss your brother's cheek as briefly as I can, but Satan has white, cotton candy hair this morning, and she _boo_ 's my effort enthusiastically. "Come on, I know you can do better than that. On the lips, or it doesn't count!" she trills. I wish desperately for death, but your brother and I press our lips chastely together, and in seconds it's over. 

It shouldn't have been the best kiss I've had in over a year, but, in case you haven't noticed, I'm fairly pathetic. So it was.

I say my goodbyes, and hustle out the door, frankly terrified that your Nan will follow and demand that I make out with your brother some more. I'm so glad that this charade, this nonsense will be over soon. I swear I am.

* * *

I have a few days off, now that my shift is over, and I cannot wait to snuggle up in my oldest, softest pajamas and watch TV until my eyes fall out.

That's the plan at least, when I stumble home in the afternoon after putting in my requisite 8.5 hours. Mogwaii has left me a brand new hair ball to clean up, and while I'm busy doing that, I knock over your box. A can of cat food comes tumbling out, and my heart drops.

Shit.

You've got a cat and it probably hasn't been fed in days. I see my quiet evening with the love of my life, wine, evaporate before my very eyes.

I reluctantly dress myself again. Very reluctantly. I'm trying not to snoop over much as I paw through your belongings for your wallet and keys, but it's sort of inevitable. I'll try not to rifle through your medicine cabinet when I get to your place, if that makes you feel better.

It's pretty much expected that you live in a nice building with doormen, so I wait outside until a mass of people enter your building and sneak in amongst the crowd. 

Whatever I was expecting from your condo, it wasn't all this white carpet, chrome and glass. It all seems very modern, very cold. The complete opposite of your parent's house. I'm not super comfortable with heights, but even I can admit that the view out of your floor to ceiling windows is pretty spectacular.

I wander through your place, amused when it turns out that the only photo in the entire place appears to be a glamour shot of you in a grey sweater that makes your eyes pop. I must admit, though, that if I looked like you, I probably wouldn't have shown the same restraint.

Since I don't find your cat in my walk through of your home, I decide to have a glass of water. You have a bunch of cabinets, so I have to be strategic if I plan on finding a glass before the new year. I'm only slightly jealous of how awesome your kitchen is.

While flinging open yet another cabinet door, I hear a bang and a loud yelp. Crap. I close the door, and there's your brother. What the fuck? How did he get there?

"Ow! Fucks sake, woman! What are you doing here?" Loki asks, sounding funny with his hand cupping his nose.

"I'm here to feed the cat," I respond, opening the freezer to grab ice for your brother's rude face. I wrap a few cubes in a paper towel and hand it over.

"Thor doesn't have a cat," he says as he puts the bundle on the bridge of his nose. He sounds so damned certain that now I'm worried that he's right, but I'm determined to brazen this out. 

A meowing little purebred ball of fluff saves me. I love cats as a general rule, assholes though they are, but I don't think I've ever been so happy to see one. I make kissy noises as I open the can, and plop the contents on a dish. I pick the cat up, and look over at Loki, who is the personification of nonplussed. 

Although the desire to stick my tongue out and shout _Neener, neener_ is almost overwhelming, I restrain myself. Instead, I surreptitiously check the dangly name tag on the cats collar when he asks what the cat is named. "Fluffy, what else?"

The phone rings, and I'm a little surprised that you still have a landline. It seems so old-school. "You gonna get that?" Loki asks, and I have the feeling that he's trying to trip me up and expose me for the fraud I apparently am.

"No, just let the machine pick it up," I tell him, but he grabs the phone and answers, "Odinsson residence."

For some reason this tickles me, and I imagine him, or you, being taught how to properly answer the phone as kids. 

He looks perplexed by whoever's on the phone, and gives me the handset with a somewhat disgruntled expression on his face, "It's for you."

I know I'm completely full of shit, that I am a total fraud, but god, the vindication I feel right now is like the sweetest nectar. "Darcy speaking," I say, with what I hope is a serene smile on my face.

It's the hospital, which reminds me that I need to talk to the nurse who started this madness in the first place. I hang up after a short conversation, and tell Loki what they told me, "It's customary for friends and family to donate blood." Which I'm already well aware of, having donated gallons of the stuff when Dad was still alive and in and out of hospitals all the time. 

Your brother smiles at me, and Christ, it is _really_ not fair how aesthetically blessed your family is, because that just made my knees weak. "Should we go together? We can take Thor's car."

I honestly don't remember the last time I drove, and I've missed it, which must be why I agree. I have your keys, anyway, so I give Fluffy a final stoke down her/his back and lock the apartment behind us.

In the garage, I have the distinct feeling that Loki is testing me again, but it's a pointless endeavor, since all I have to do is push the button on the key and see that the lovely black Beemer in the row right in front of us flashes its headlights and beeps twice.

I slide into the drivers seat, marveling at the luxurious leather seats and sick sound system. _Oh, this is going to be fun_ , I think and grin at Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that you readers, perhaps especially the folks who've commented, who've given me kudos, who've subscribed or bookmarked, are simply lovely and that your support is very much appreciated. 
> 
> Hugs and libations all around!


	5. Fainting Is Totes Manly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki faints and attempts to pry

I've been to this particular rodeo dozens of times. Loki apparently never has, because he's looking pretty green, and keeps his face turned away from the arm with the needle poked in it.

I've been quiet for a while, mostly because I'm contemplating exactly how inappropriate it would be for me to take the long way back to your place after we're done here. Your car is bad ass and I really want to put it through its paces again. Preferably not with your brother whimpering in the passenger seat when I take a corner too fast, but I will admit to being slightly amused by it.

He finally breaks the silence with, "So I guess I should thank you for not killing us on the way over."

"I'll have you know I'm an excellent driver," I grouse back.

"Yeah, for someone in an Indy car race, maybe, but was it really necessary to floor it up the ramp while we were pulling out of the parking garage?"

"We never would have caught air if I hadn't."

"You mean to tell me that you actually intended to do that?"

"Uh, _yeah_. It's not every day I get to drive a car that excellent."

"Oh? Thor doesn't let you use his car? I mean, I can see why not, if that's how you normally drive."

It would have been so easy to let that remark slide, but for some reason, I say, "Well, Thor and I don't really go out much." Something about the way this comes out, makes it sound dirty, like all we do in our fake relationship is bang like rabbits.

I flush.

Loki coughs.

"I mean, we've been busy doing other stuff," I say to cover the awkwardness, but really all that statement does is make it worse. I know, because your brother's cheeks redden, despite how pale he'd become since he'd been stuck with a needle.

"Oh?" he sort of croaks, "Is that why we hadn't heard the news yet? You guys were _busy_?"

"Well, it was sudden. And very recent. You know, uhm, and we wanted to enjoy the newness?" Why I made that a question, I don't know. I try one more time, and forgive me for the lies, "I think he was waiting till after the holiday craziness to make the announcement. I'm sure he never intended for you all to find out like this."

"Yeah, Thor never _intends_ to be a jerk, he just is," he grimaces as soon as the words leave his mouth, "Not that he meant to be stuck in a coma, in the hospital over Christmas. Sorry, that sounded... rude. It's just - _family_ , you know? They can drive you up a goddamned wall." 

I _did_ know. I just hadn't for a while. 

Thankfully, the nurse chooses that moment to intrude. She hands me a paper cup of powdered OJ and a dry cookie to distract me as she pulls the needle free. In no time, I'm bandaged, holding my elbow up, drinking the juice while I drape my coat over my arm. I'm not feeling like myself, and I have to get away. I take a few steps, but I hear a thud behind me.

I look over my shoulder, and see Loki sprawled out on the ground. My guess is that he stood up too fast and fainted, not that it serves him right or anything. Still, it's worrisome. He could have hit his head or otherwise seriously injured himself. 

With the help of a nurse or two, I manage to get him back into the bed. One of the nurses straps a blood pressure cuff on him, and pumps the bulb a few times. It's not long before he opens his eyes. He smiles when he sees me, though I'm not sure why. 

"Welcome back, Captain Swoon. You had me worried there for a second."

Loki blinks in confusion, "Wait, what just happened?"

"You swooned,  _fain-ted_ , passed out, went _Timber!_ , you know, lost consciousness. You should have been a good boy and sat quietly drinking your juice until your blood sugar went up," I tell him.

The nurse scowls at me, and I scowl right back. In my expert opinion, as a noob to donating blood she should have kept your brother seated until he finished the OJ and the cookie. 

"I remember feeling a little dizzy, but I'm pretty sure I didn't faint," he says, frowning as the nurse peers into his eyes with a little light.

I can't help it, I laugh. 

"Well, if I did, and I'm not admitting to anything, but say that I did, in fact, pass out, I'm sure I did it in the most manly way possible."

I roll my eyes, "Are you gonna be alright? Do you need me to call anyone?"

"Nah, I'll head up and visit Thor, catch a ride back with the folks."

"Ok then. Give them my love."

"Huh?" he seems a little fuzzy, "why?"

"Because I like your family. They're pretty great," I say, feeling awkward.

"I like you, too," he says, then shakes his head. "I mean, we, _they_ like you, too."

Your brother is kind of adorable when he's like this.

"Toodles," I say and give a little wave, mentally kicking myself for saying that, but he doesn't seem to notice I've turned into a Golden Girl. He just waves back, before closing his eyes and leaning back on the bed.

* * *

I may have to stop answering my door.

First it was Joe Jr, coming to complain that I ditched our "date". I remind him, yet again that I have never, and will never accept a date, ride, flowers, food or drink from him. I forgo telling him _no offense_ for obvious reasons.

Then, Heimdall stopped by, and it had seemed easier to shove Joe Jr into my closet, than to explain his presence. I had snatched a pair of my panties out Joe Jr's grubby, little hands before admonishing him to be quiet, and slamming the door shut, which is how I came to wave them at Heimdall when I answered his knock.

"Hi," he'd said, "those are nice, but I'm afraid they're not my size".

He'd stopped by to see how I was doing, and to assure me that he had our little situation under control. 

While I appreciated the support, I've been feeling worse and worse about this whole thing. He didn't stay long, for which I was grateful, considering the noises I heard coming from my closet.

I wish I could say that I was surprised to find Joe Jr trying to wedge his feet into my pumps, but I wasn't. Not that I care one whit what he likes to wear, but I really didn't want him stretching out my good shoes. 

Then came yet another knock on my door, which meant more unsupervised closet time for Joe Jr. Naturally it was your brother. When he told me that your parents wanted to give me a piece of furniture as an engagement gift, the obvious answer was to have him bring it on over to your place. When he asks me why, when I haven't even seen it, "Everything looks better at Thor's place," was the only reason I could come up with.

I told him that I'd meet him downstairs, to buy enough time to evict Joe Jr. While trying to herd him into the hallway, he asked, "Are you triple-timing Joe Jr?" 

I laughed, because that would require him and I to actually be dating and for me to have gone out with someone else, and the only thing I had going on was a fake relationship with you, a dude in a coma who wasn't even aware of my existence. 

So, no more answering my door. Nothing good ever comes from it.

* * *

Your brother drives the box truck with Odinsson & Son written on the sides like an old man. So. Very. Slow. It takes forever to get to your building. 

I hop out, after he parks, and tell him that he's probably too close to the car in front. "I wouldn't be able to get the gate down if I didn't pull in all the way," he says, and he does have a point there. On the other hand, this is Chicago, and the likelihood of him being able to get out once we're done here seems slim to not-gonna-happen. I warned him, though, so when the inevitable happens, I get to _I-Told-You-So_ , which is, frankly, one of life's greatest pleasures.

When the gate is lowered, I hop up into the back and see a really lovely wooden rocking chair strapped to the sides. The wood is smooth, even across the seams, and it's obvious that someone talented crafted this piece. Of all the regrets I have about this crazy scheme, the fact that this incredible chair will never be mine is one of the biggest. 

"I love it," I say as I continue to run my hand across the back and arms. 

"That's nice," Loki says, with a grin that I am becoming far too attached to, "But you get the loveseat." Which is big and puffy and green. It will match exactly nothing in your apartment. 

"Oh," I say, disappointed, "Well, may I?" 

His eyes are really warm, and his mouth kinda tilts up on one side, "Yeah, rock out."

I give the chair a test run, and it's better than I thought. I want it. Desperately.

"You should sell these, like, as a business."

"So you liked it, then?" he asks, eyes lit up, pride evident in his voice. "And I would. Make stuff like this full-time, I mean, but with the family business, it gets a little complicated. Dad always talks about how he wants this to be his legacy, a real family business, and for a while there it was Odinsson and Sons. And then Thor went off to become a lawyer, and suddenly it was Odinsson and Son. If I go off and do my own thing, it's Odinsson. I can't do that to him."

He sounds... sad. Determined. 

"I don't think he'd want you to give up on something you love, and are so obviously good at."

"Yeah," he shakes his head, and unhooks the couch from the side of the truck, "Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but for now it's just a part-time thing."

I let the issue go, since it's really none of my business, and help him get the loveseat out of the truck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be unable to update for maybe a week, so sorry for the delay, all. But I'll be back soon enough.  
> Thanks again for all your kind comments and support :)


	6. An Old Mover's Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our intrepid duo breaks stuff, despite their best intentions.

We wheel the loveseat inside your building, and not through the service entrance, either, much to the dismay of the doorman in the fancy uniform. I let your brother deal with him, because I'm having way too much fun pushing the loveseat through the slick-floored lobby towards the bank of elevators. As always, I push the button a dozen times, but this time, it's just for funsies.

When the elevator arrives, and Loki still hasn't, I push the couch halfway way through the door and whistle across the empty, fancy, be-marbled expanse of the lobby. The doorman looks over at me, and seems somehow guilty, while Loki appears to be reassessing me. I don't know what was said between them, and I decide that I definitely don't want to care. 

Loki kinda lopes over, and to be perfectly honest, he wears his jeans and beige jacket just as well as you wear your suits. We get the loveseat up to your floor without incident, but I'm giggling hysterically at the impression of your dad that Loki made, and it makes getting the key into the lock successfully almost impossible.

The dolly the loveseat sits atop squeaks as he pushes it back away from me, just a little. He comes up behind me, while I'm still shakily trying to get the key in the lock and presses up against me.

I look over my shoulder, and his face is _right there_. I have to remind myself to breathe, because I have suddenly just stopped everything - laughing, breathing, thinking - but he just takes the key out of my hand and presses it home and twists. "Show off."

"Yeah, that was a real challenge, let me tell you," he says somewhat sarcastically, while he backs away, and I turn my face, so he won't see the redness I'm sure is there.

"Sorry, that came out wrong."

I shrug, "No big."

The door swings open easily, and I catch a whiff of cat litter. I'll make sure to take care of that while I'm here, which might help assuage a small portion of the guilt I feel about this ridiculous scheme. 

"Uh, hold the door open," he says and, due to space constraints, I use my body sort of like a bridge, the back of my feet pressed against the wall in the foyer of your apartment, and my hands pushing the door open as high as I can reach.

The loveseat is too wide to fit through the door. We find this out when your brother wedges it firmly in the door frame. I collapse, from the strain of trying to hold that awkward position, but also, more laughter. 

"Pull on it from that end," Loki says, the corner of his mouth curling up in that way that is starting to get to me, "And I'll push on it from here."

I wrap my hands around the armrests, nod at your brother and tug.

Nothing happens. Exasperated, I glance up at Loki who's crouching down on his side of the loveseat, "Are you gonna push, or are we just gonna leave it here?" 

He chuckles, "I _did_ push."

"Oh. Well, what do we do now?"

He winks at me, "I'm gonna try an old mover's trick."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Running start, push _real_ hard," he steps back, and waves his hand, "You are going to want to step aside."

I move further into the foyer and watch as Loki rolls his shoulders and tilts his head sharply right. I hear the distinct sound of vertebrae popping and then he runs straight into the loveseat.

Several things happen immediately: there is a loud tearing of fabric, a cracking of wood breaking, the banging of the loveseat impacting into the little table in the foyer and finally the sound of the vase filled with pebbles and blue water atop that little table falling to the floor and shattering into a million likely hugely expensive pieces. 

Loki closes the door as best he can with the frame broken, glances around at the havoc he has created, and looks like he's trying not to grin. "How about we put the loveseat right there? It'll cover the tear in the back here, and that shi-stuff," he points to the blue stain spreading across the white carpet and his eyes kinda twinkle mischievously.

"Yeah, I think that's definitely the perfect spot for it," and totally I lose it.

I'm sorry for finding the destruction of your home absolutely hilarious, but, I can't help it.

Fluffy pokes her/his head around the corner (and, really, I should probably check out your cat's gender to avoid any mistakes) and meows loudly. I get myself mostly under control, while your guard cat keeps a watchful eye on me. 

I scoop Fluffy up and tell Loki to do something about the door while making my way into the kitchen in search of a bag and paper towels. I put the Fluff-ster on the dark granite countertop, mumble a quick apology to your cat, lift the tail, and inspect your cat's junk as briefly as possible.

It's official: Fluffy is a girl. Also: not super happy with me. She swipes her claws at my face, which I duck back from just in time. A little bit of hissing and she stalks away, towards what I'm pretty sure is your bedroom. 

I grab a garbage bag from under the sink, and the roll of paper towels before heading back to the living room, where I see Loki scratching his chin with one hand. He's staring between the broken piece of wood he was holding in the other hand, and the shattered door frame. "I think I'll have to come back tomorrow with tools and a fresh piece of wood to fix that properly."

I wince a little bit at that news, and kneel to pick up the broken glass and use wads of paper towels to sop up as much of the colored water as I can.

"Will the door lock?" I ask, hoping that it will, because I really don't feel comfortable spending the night in your place. It's definitely a boundary I would prefer not crossing.

"Yeah, it'll be fine, for a little while, anyway," he said and squats down unexpectedly next to me. I look over at him as he picks up the last few visible pieces of glass, and, somehow, I slice my finger on the piece I'd been holding. 

I drop the shard into the bag, and wrap a paper towel around my finger. "Well, I'm going to take care of this real quick, feed and water Fluffy, clean her litter. Think you can finish up here in the meantime?"

"Course. Uhm, do you want help with any of that, or something?" He looks at me, and I think that it's a real shame that he's your brother and I'm an imposter. I wander back into the kitchen.

"Are you volunteering to clean the litter?" I smile over my shoulder at Loki. 

"I was thinking more of the feeding and watering option, to be honest."

"Fair enough, food's in that cupboard." which I only knew because I'd looked for your glasses the day before, but whatever. 

I find your bathroom, flip the water on, and rinse off my bloody finger. The cut doesn't appear to be particularly deep, but it is relatively painful. I keep the water running over my finger for a few more seconds, since it keeps welling up.

Opening your medicine cabinet, I remember my promise that I wouldn't root around in it, but even if you don't actually know me, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want my finger to get infected. I focus solely on the antiseptic ointment and band-aids, and not the big box of Trojan Magnums, Ribbed - for her pleasure. Yup, totally didn't notice that at all.

There is a tapping at the door, "Need any help with that?" Loki asks and pokes his head inside. I'm still trying to wrap the the band-aid around my finger, and not quite succeeding. He steps close, takes my hand in his, and with more care than the little cut warrants, presses the band-aid into place.

I look up at his face, and have to remind myself, yet again, that this is your brother, I am here under a completely false pretense, and, seriously, lusting after this guy is totally inappropriate. I have to look away when his attention finally turns from the way our hands are touching. How I find a small kernel of rationality so I can tug my hand free, I don't know.

"I'll do the litter tomorrow," I push past him and walk into your spacious living room, "I'm feeling kinda like I should be getting home."

Loki is wiping his hands on his thighs when he joins me in the living room, "Ok, I'll drive you."

If I could come up with a plausible excuse to decline his offer, I would, but my mind feels like it's working sluggishly, and I kind of fear what might come out if I open my mouth. Instead, I nod. After putting on my coat, your brother opens the door to let us out. Loki holds out his hand, and it takes me far too long to realize he needs the keys to jimmy the door locked. 

He pulls and lifts the door, pushes the key into the lock and twists it ever so carefully. He seems to hold his breath momentarily as he lets the door handle go. The door creaks, but stays in place. He lets out a whooshing breath and smiles at me. "Success!"

He must notice that I'm a little off, because he continues, "Don't worry, I'll have it fixed up so well even Thor won't be able to tell the difference. And besides, the younger brother gets the blame for everything, anyway. Nothing for you to be even slightly concerned about."

I smile at him, because he has this look on his face that I can't identify, nor should I even try to, because it's not my business, all of this, none of it is my business. I shouldn't care about the way Loki just said that, and it shouldn't have made me feel sad.

It still does, though. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay... but I should be back on a regular update schedule, likely about once a week.
> 
> Thanks again for all the support!


	7. Should Probably Consider a New Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cold walk in Chicago turns into something unexpected.

I can't quite bring myself to say _I told you so_. I mean, I totally did tell him. But, he seems like he's had enough, if the way his shoulders hunch and he glares between the truck and the car parked extra close to the rear is anything to go by. It's just not fun to kick a man while he's down.

"Look, I'm just going to walk home," I say instead.

"What? Why? They can't have too much left on the meter."

"Uh, it's after six, I'm sorry to say. They can pretty much stay until tomorrow. See you around," I wave and turn away, already figuring out the best way home. 

"You're just going to abandon me here?" he asks.

"Basically!" I call, smiling a little, as I start walking.

"Hey, wait up!" he calls from behind me and I hear him run to catch up, "I'll walk with you."

"You really don't have to," I say, stopping briefly to let him catch up. "I can take care of myself."

"Are you kidding? I'm walking with you for my own protection. These are the mean streets of Chicago, which I hear chews up nice boys like me." He pops the collar of his jacket, tucks his hands in the pockets and lifts his shoulders against the frigid wind.

We walk for a while in silence. 

It's a pleasant sort of quiet, and it's nice that neither of us seem to be in a rush to fill it with little inconsequentials. I shiver a little bit in my dad's old coat, because as much warmth as it brings my heart to wear it, that amount is exactly inverse to the actual warmth it provides. 

I hug myself, putting my hands under my arms. It doesn't do much good, but we're getting closer to the river, so it's only going to get worse before it gets better. Loki looks just as frozen as I do, if not more so, since at least I have a scarf and admittedly shitty gloves to help keep me warm.

He looks at me, and says something. I miss, completely, whatever it was, lost in the thought that in some other circumstance, this might've been a romantic stroll. Maybe even a date. Which is, of course, stupidly ridiculous. Loki seems to be expecting an answer, so "Huh?"

"You look cold."

"Probably because I am," and since we're saying dumb shit, "How about you?"

"Would you believe this jacket is reversible, and I'm wearing the warm side?" He smiles wryly, "Besides, at least mine wasn't pulled from a production of Oliver Twist."

"Hey, this was my Dad's." 

"Then not only do I imagine that he's a Victorian era author, but that he must be pretty cold, too."

Well, shit. I suppose it's easiest just to get it out there, like ripping off a band-aid, " He's, uhm, dead." I remember people don't like that phrasing, it's too abrupt, too final and it makes them uncomfortable, "I mean, he passed away."

He looks stricken, and hurries to say, "I'm sorry."

"It's ok, you know, it's been... a while now, and I'm fine with it. I mean, as fine as a person can be about that. I don't even remember my mother, but I've got plenty of excellent memories of him." A year ago I wouldn't have been able to be so matter of fact about this.

That I can smile about those memories now, is a testimony to how far I've come from those first awful months when all I could do was cry.

We lapse back into silent-mode walking for a block or two, and as we turn a corner I glimpse the river and the Michigan Avenue Bridge. I'll be home soon, and everything will be normal again for a while. And as soon as Heimdall breaks the news, everything will be normal forever. 

"What was he like?" Loki's voice is quiet, but curious, not pitying, which is a refreshing change from how these types of conversations usually go.

I'm not sure I'm really ready for anything too heavy, so I go with the old standard, "A lot like me, actually. Small. Dark haired." I wait a beat, "Flat-chested."

Loki kind of chokes, which makes the joke entirely worth it.

"Uh," he looks down at my rather considerable bosom, starts to say something, sees my expression, and points at me. "Come on, you know what I meant."

"He liked maps."

"I get that, I live by maps. Got a whole glove compartment full of them."

"You don't use a GPS or smartphone?"

"Nah, where's the adventure in that?" Your brother is tall, and he glances back down at me from his great height with what I'd like to imagine is affection. 

"That's funny, my dad used to say that all the time. He used to hear about someplace on the TV, and he'd have me get out our big, old atlas and we'd plan, like, this elaborate route there. Then, after we got internet, anyway, we'd plan the perfect day. We'd go to this water park or that museum, or eat at this place where someone historical used to take their tea, or whatever." I sigh - I can't help it. I miss him so much sometimes, it's overwhelming.

"If there was any place you could-,"

"Florence," I cut off his question, since it's an easy one. "Definitely Florence."

"Hmm. I haven't delivered any furniture there, and I'm not sure about their estate sales, but I'm told it's very nice. You been?"

"What? That's not a stop on the El, so no. But, you know, got some plans. And, oh. This," I root around my bag, and pull out my passport.

Loki looks amused, "You carry your passport around with you?"

I nod, and I know that it might seem silly, but what the hell, "You never know when you might have to flee the country, or whatever."

"May I?" he asks. 

I hand it over, fairly certain that he's not planning on absconding with it, but, "I'm not super photogenic."

Your brother lifts an eyebrow, gives me that grin again, and flips through the little booklet. "Wow, you weren't kidding," he says and gives an exaggerated wince. "Mom probably would have wanted a picture for the mantle. But, yikes, after seeing this picture, I'll have to convince her otherwise."

"Ass!"

"Yeah, you know, I get that a lot. There's no stamps in that," he says as he hands the passport back to me.

"I haven't actually been anywhere yet," I tell him, willing my voice to be rock steady, "but, I'm planning that trip to Florence real soon, so you know... Pow! First stamp." I press an imaginary stamp on one of the empty pages, before tucking the passport back into my bag.

"I'm sure that'll make your dad proud," Loki says softly.

"Yeah," assuming I ever actually do it, "you actually sort of remind me of him. A little," I hold out my hand and almost touch my thumb and index finger together.

"He was obviously a man of distinction, a real class act, if that's the case," he coughs, turns away, and I think he hocks up a loogie. He looks a little sheepish, after, but I can't tell if he's blushing or not, his cheeks are already so red with the cold, "Uh, sorry about that."

I start giggling, I don't mean to, the timing seems a little _off_. Especially when I look down and see the dog shit on your brother's shoe. I stop walking, even though we are on the bridge and the wind is whipping our hair and clothes this way and that.

"Me, too," I finally manage to say. "You, uhm, stepped in poo. Oh god, it rhymed! Sorry again," And I practically erupt in laughter. I'm a child, I know, and, Jesus, does Loki look disgruntled, but this is one of the most fucked up nights I've had in a long time, and I can't help but be amused. What absurdity is next?

Your brother tries not to join in, and it's a valiant effort, but soon enough he's laughing along with me. A couple that had been engaging in some very ill-advised pda, considering the frigid locale, literally stop what they're doing to stare at us.

I waggle my fingers at them, before grabbing your brother's elbow and tugging him back into motion, "Come on, let's get moving again before we freeze to death out here."

The crook of his arm is pretty warm, comparatively, and he makes a pretty great wind-break, so I don't let go of him, don't step away. I also don't examine why it feels so nice to be walking along like this. With him.

Thankfully, from the bridge it's not too far from my place, and the buildings do an adequate job shielding us from the worst of the wind. I know I'm almost home when I see Joe Jr's freshly waxed late 80's Grand Am parked under a street lamp.

"I can make it from here, Mr. Chatty," I tell your brother, who has been strangely talkative these last few blocks, asking me about where I grew up and where I went to school, if I had plans to go back. I let go of his arm, ready to get back to normality.

"Nah, I'll see you to your door, or Ma would have my ass."

"She raised you right, I see."

"Yeah, she's... she's pretty great. Oh, careful, it's a little slippery. Here," he says and holds out the arm I just let go, literally seconds ago. 

I gingerly grab hold, and we sort of shuffle along the ice rink the sidewalk to my building has become. I feel his legs start to slide into mine, let go of his arm like it's on fire and scoot away from him. It's not personal, I just don't want to add to my collection of fall-related bruises.

He shimmies and twists around, somehow manages to find his balance, and gives me a baleful look. "I see how it is, you'll just leave an innocent man to save yourself."

I giggle and totter further away when he grabs after me, "Absolutely! No, no don't!"

As soon as his fingers close around my arm, I feel my feet slide precariously, and so does he, apparently. We squeal, in unison, as we almost-fall. His face is so close. He's looking at me while we try to regain our footing, I know because I'm looking right back. If he was anybody else, I'd kiss him. But I can't. He's your brother, and fake fiancee or not, aware of my existence or not, I can't do that to you.

Shit.

He must realize how this looks, because his expression is suddenly slightly guilty. We retreat at the same time, and I'm the only one of us successful at staying upright. Loki falls, rather spectacularly, and I hear the familiar sound of fabric ripping.

I rush over, miraculously not joining him sprawled on the ice. "Are you ok?" I ask and hold out my hand.

"No, I think I bruised my pride," he groans as I pull on his hand until he stumbles up.

He shakes his head, before contorting his body so he can look at his _pride._ "Yup," he says after inspecting the damage, "ripped my jeans. I think I'll just call a cab and head on home."

"You sure you don't need anything? Or, maybe, do you want to come up with me?"

Why did I offer? I can't imagine anything worse, or anything better, than having your brother in my apartment. I should probably get a hold on these conflicting emotions before I do something really stupid.

"No, I'll be fine, and uhm. Yeah. Probably not a good idea considering that I've apparently been jinxed or something. I might break something else."

"I had a really nice time tonight, Loki. With you." _  
_

I tell myself to shut it, while I'm still ahead, and for once I take my own advice.

I keep my big trap shut as Loki wishes me a good night and sort of waddles off to the street, trying to hold his pants closed. I shouldn't find that endearing. I probably shouldn't be checking out his ass, either.

I'm probably screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one practically wrote itself, so it's earlier than expected. Hope you like it.


	8. I'm NOT Checking For That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. Also, where we confirm something.

Finally a day to myself.

Breakfast is half of a package of Oreo's and a glass of milk. I need the sugar for energy, since I have to clean and possibly, if I want real food at some point, go grocery shopping. I tackle the tidying first. 

Then it's time to do laundry, trudging one huge basket down to the basement, and then, once I've sorted and started the machines, it's back up those five flights of wretched stairs. I set a timer, all while knowing that I'm going to be making that horrible trip another four times. At least I only have to carry the basket once more, but, that's really an exceptionally small comfort.

When I have returned from the basement for the last time, I am more than ready to start day drinking, screw grocery shopping. I pour a glass of wine, take a sip and recall your litter situation. I don't want to root around in your cat box, but it's the least I could do, considering the whole 'fake relationship' thing. 

Since I don't drive, I don't see a reason not to finish my wine. And since I'm heading out anyway, I decide to pick up a grinder on the way. And a bag of chips. And possibly, well, definitely, a cookie or two. 

I transfer the stuff in your box - your suit, shirt, tie and coat, your cashmere scarf that smells like you, your soft, leather gloves into a backpack, and walk to the very conveniently located train station.The benefit of my job is the free transportation, something I take full advantage of. I only take the El a few stops, and walk a few blocks to one of the places I frequent if I feel like splurging for lunch.

The line at my favorite sandwich shop is impressively long. I'm not due back at work today, so it doesn't bother me. I enjoy looking at all the people. After getting to the front of the line, I realize, belatedly, that there's no room to sit, so I get my order to go. I'll use a plate and won't spill a drop on your carpet.

I get your place in no more than 20 minutes and despite the expert packaging, I know my sandwich is cold, because I sure am. It's a different doorman today, but he's busy talking to a guy in coveralls, so he doesn't really notice me. Probably because I'm walking in like I belong here. Amazing how the perception of purpose can hide a person in plain sight.

Your door appears to be sitting flush and normal in the frame, so I'm assuming that your brother has already been by. It's for the best, really. 

Once inside, I find that, true to Loki's word, it's like we didn't demolish your door. Your cat doesn't greet me, but that's not a huge surprise. Sticking the sandwich in the oven, I notice that I can't smell the litter box, just fresh cut lumber and paint. I didn't see a litter box in the bathroom in your bedroom. Considering your carpet, which seems to run throughout your apartment, with the exception of the kitchen and bathroom, I can't imagine where else you would have put it. 

I remember the small bathroom, and check that. I find the box, and it's clean, much to my surprise.

"Darcy?" I hear your brother call from the living room. 

"Yeah, hi," I walk back into the living room, and see him standing there. He's a handsome man, your brother, not that you needed to know that. 

"I didn't see the box truck outside, I didn't realize you were here," I say.

"Took my little truck over, since I wasn't hauling any furniture. Came by to see you a few hours ago, but you weren't home." There's something strange in his voice, something tight that wasn't there last night.

"I was probably doing laundry. Sorry I missed you." I try smiling at him, but his face remains impassive, hard, sort of like it had been when we first met.

"Well, I'm done here, and I'm going to go," he says and leans down to grab a tool box I hadn't even noticed.

I don't know why, considering how weird things are going, but I say "I was going to have some lunch, and I probably got too much, if you want to stick around and share."

He looks at me, cocks his head to the side for a moment or two, before he nods. "Ok, what do you have?"

* * *

I didn't need to know that your brother doesn't like tomatoes, or to see the way his face scrunched up when he picked the slices off of his half of the sandwich. But I had, just like he'd found out that we shared a love of Salt and Vinegar potato chips.

After putting our plates in the dishwasher, and I empty my backpack of your stuff, we head over to the hospital in his truck because Frigga had called to request our presence.

He's seems so different today, like we'd never had the chance to get to know each other while we walked back to my place last night. I feel like I've done or said something wrong, you know, aside from the obvious. I wonder if he could have somehow found out about the truth, and if so, how.

Once we walk into your room, I sort of wish I'd stayed home. Everyone looks so happy to see me, and it feels so undeserved. I give Hilda a quick hug, and wave to Sif standing next to your bed. Odin, who had been sitting next to you, reading the sports section aloud, sets the paper down and stands. "Come over here, I'm sure Thor would like to hear your voice."

"Maybe we should sing to him?" Hilda asks, "I hear people in a coma respond to music. What was that song he used to play over and over? That upbeat one he always works out to?" She's gone from looking at the rest of the family to looking at me like I know. If I really was your fiancee, I'd probably know this. I glance over at Heimdall, who's trying to discretely mouth the name, but I don't get it. I feel Loki staring a hole in my back.

Sif says "Whoo-," and I know instantly what song it is. I join in, "-oomp there it is, Whoomp there it is. Yeah. That's a classic." I just want you to know that inside, I'm making so much fun of you at this point.

Odin looks like he's smelled something unpleasant, "He'll just have to wake up without that, because if I ever hear that song again it'll be too soon."

"What's his favorite ice cream?" Loki asks, quietly. He catches my eye, and there's something suspicious and adversarial about it.

"Baskin Robbins," I respond confidently, recalling the rows of containers in your freezer.

"Beer?"

I remember the microbrews in the fridge, and the cans hidden in the back, so I make an educated guess, "He says he likes the small, obscure microbrews, but it's really Coors. In a can." I can feel everyone looking at us, and it makes me a little nervous. I don't understand what's going on. Where had the nice guy from yesterday gone? 

"What's going on, Loki?" Frigga asks, and Sif chimes in, "Yeah, why're you being such a dick?"

"Sif!" Frigga exclaims.

"What? He is!" Your sister rolls her eyes, and crosses her arms under her chest. 

Loki mirrors Sifs position, and glares at me. "I had a very enlightening conversation with Joe Fusco, Jr. He says that you're engaged to him, and there's no way there's anyone else because you're always alone," Loki looks so smug, like he's uncovered my deepest darkest secret and I'm momentarily struck speechless, before I start laughing.

All eyes are on me, "Joe Jr also says he invented the internet, but that's not true either. Really, you think I'd ever even go out with him?"

Loki looks uncertain, uncomfortable, "He also said you never have people over, except the last few days, that he thinks you're two-timing him."

"I'm not dating, much less engaged to my landlord's delusional son, Loki."

"Oh dear, I'm sure if Darcy wanted to prove that she was engaged to Thor, she could," Hilda grabs my hand and looks down at me, "Wouldn't you, dear?"

Heimdall looks like he's about ready to have a heart attack, but it occurs to me that I actually do know something about you no one else in this room is likely to.

"Uhm, he's only got one ball. _Testicle_ , sorry, Hilda."

Everyone says _huh?_ at pretty much the same time, and your mom, bless her, looks completely crestfallen, "What? When, how?"

"He was playing basketball with a work-buddy, Fandral, who had a pencil in his pocket..." I say, letting my voice trail off.

The men in the room wince, and Frigga says, "My poor baby."

"Who should check for... that?" Hilda asks.

"Don't look at me," your brother says.

"Not it," Odin chimes in, at the same time as Heimdall says, "It wouldn't be appropriate for me to..."

Frigga shakes her head, "Fine, I'm his mother, I'll do it."

She lifts your sheet.

* * *

We wait for the elevator. Sif is muttering something about how she could have lived her whole life without knowing that, and I find myself agreeing.

Frigga is giving Loki a look, and I wouldn't want to be him, when she blows. 

Hilda looks delighted, while Heimdall just looks confused. 

Not for the first time, I think that I can't wait for all of this to be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Shadows_of_Shemai for the idea about who Thor's work-buddy is!
> 
> As always, I love hearing from you all - no really I do. Some weirdo PM'd me for a request, and it made me really appreciate how kind and polite you all have been. Thanks :)


	9. How is Babby Formed?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif overhears something, repeats it, hijinx ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist this classic meme as the chapter title. Forgive me?

I don't know what to do about this whole situation.

It's gone way further than I had anticipated. It's been, well, _fun_ is not the appropriate word, but it made me feel like I mattered, like I belonged somewhere. Like I had a family.

I'm not sure how I would even go about extricating myself from this situation, since Heimdall seems to have forgotten that I'm not actually engaged to you, and that I don't actually belong. There's really only one person in my life I consider to be _grown-up_ , a responsible adult in a successful, if dull, long-term relationship whose advice might be wise. Jane. 

She's luckily free for lunch, and I offer up a hotdog in exchange for a sage to listen to my problems. 

Jane is more listless than I've ever seen her, and she ends up fumbling so much, that the dog and its accoutrements flies out of the bun seconds after she gets her hands on it.

I turn back to the vendor, ready to flirt to get a replacement, but he rolls his eyes, "No exchanges or refunds, doll."

I fork over another $4, and he hands Jane a new hot dog. Her hands shake, but this time she's successful at getting it into her mouth-hole.

I wait until we start walking until I start talking. The whole sordid mess spills out, and just the act of admitting everything makes me feel unexpectedly lighter.

"So, now I'm stuck pretending to be something I'm so obviously not. Every single thing I say around these people is a lie, and they all seem to love me. It's so fucked up, Jane."

My boss/friend is uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, give her an opportunity to voice her opinion or meddle, she's all over it. Today, she just quietly mutters to herself. Jane's clearly going through her own shit, and I feel crappy for not noticing it sooner. I've officially crossed into douchebag territory. "I'm sorry for unloading all over you, hon, I should have asked how you are."

Jane blinks rapidly a few times and takes a deep breath. "I'm fine, it's just... Donald and I are - that is, we've broken up." She waves off my exclamations of sympathy, "No, no don't. You don't have to lie. I know you hated him."

I feel even worse than before, not just because I do kinda hate him - he's boring, has about as much depth as a urinal cake and seems like the most self-absorbed doofus I've had the misfortune to get to know - but because I didn't even realize that they were having problems. "Doesn't mean I want you unhappy," I say as I pat her awkwardly on the back. The few bites I took of my hotdog sits like lead in my stomach, and I pitch the remainder mournfully. My appetite has fled.

Jane keeps blinking, and her eyes are suspiciously bright when she shakes her head. "I know, and I appreciate the sentiment. It's one Donald apparently didn't share. Anyway, enough about that, are you coming to the party?"

Her New Year's Eve parties are legend in the Metra employee circle, and while I've given the last two years a pass, I reluctantly agree. It's probably a good thing that I stop obsessing over my drama and interact with people who know the real me, people I haven't lied to relentlessly.

* * *

I'm back in the booth, chatting with Nat. She knows something is up, but can't figure out what exactly that is and it's driving her a little nutty. It's probably one of the benefits I'll enjoy the most out of this whole debacle. It's not often that I know something she doesn't, gossip-wise, even if it _is_ about me. I would probably tell her, but she's terrible at keeping secrets, so I keep my mouth shut.

I'm startled to see Sif standing there, fresh-faced and chipper, with her friends outside of my booth, and when I wave them through without paying, Nat must smell blood in the water. "And who are these lovely young ladies?" she asks, far too innocently.

I reluctantly introduce Sif, without going into detail about how exactly I know her. Nat smiles her _I-know-somethings-up-God-help-you_ grin, and I brace myself for the inevitable third degree that's coming. Sif tells me that she'll see me at the hospital, and I nod while inwardly cringing, and wave good bye.

Nat hisses at me, "I know that look. When were you introduced to your baby-daddy's family?" 

Thankfully Sif has already walked away, and I can only hope that she didn't hear that. It's one thing to jokingly call you, the man I've been crushing on for however many months ' _baby-daddy_ ' between friends, but something different to have your sister overhear it.

I smack her arm, but all she does is laugh, "I'm glad you're getting out more, even if you won't tell me about it."

* * *

The nurse who started the madness is back on duty next time I go to visit you. 

I had meant to be cool about this, like ice-cold, but I end up halfway to hysterical. "Whyyyy? Why would you do me like this? What were you thinking?" I end up wailing.

She looks at me like I am more than a few sandwiches short of a lunchbox. Deservedly, true. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Why would you say I'm engaged to him, Thor, the guy I saved? Why would you lie about that?" And certainly, I should absolutely use a less adversarial tone, but, in my, admittedly meager defense, I've had one fuck of a week.

"Uhm... You said you were going to marry him?"

Ok. "Yeah, I was talking to myself," and it occurs to me that I am a total and complete moron. "I was just - wishful thinking."

"So you're not...?" she looks slightly stricken. A small, viscous part of me delights in the obvious awfulness of the situation.

"Yeah, not so much," I respond.

"Shit," she says, eloquently.

"That about sums it up."

"What do we do now?" the person who has screwed up my life so very royally asks, and there's a whole world of _oh-em-gee, double-ewe-tee-eff did I do_ in that question. 

It's all my fault anyway, so, "You know what? I got this. It's my fault. Sorry for freaking out on you."

* * *

I'm getting ready for the party. I'm not exactly looking forward to the socializing aspect of the night, but, hey there's booze to smooth out all those rough edges, so. There's that. 

Naturally someone knocks on my door as I have my liquid eyeliner wand basically pointed at my eyeball. I end up stabbing myself, because of course. I didn't really need to use those contact lenses, anyway.

I'm rubbing my left eye with the back of my hand, having thrown a $15 pair of contacts down the drain when I open my front door. Your brother is standing there, looking for all the world as if someone shat in his cornflakes.

I'm starting to get used to, not just his face, but also the inevitable judgmental expression he usually wears around me. He's looking at me like I am some sort of troll, and, you know what? I don't care. I'm busy.

I wave his disapproving ass into my apartment, "Sit down, shut up. I'm getting ready. You've already fucked up a perfect cat-eye, the least you could do is just - be still for a little bit."

My eye is leaking too much to bother with a real makeup job. I wipe all the stuff I'd spent so long applying off my face. It's not like I was going to the party to impress anybody, but it would have been nice to ditch the usual glasses, at least.

Grabbing my coat and struggling into my favorite boots, I wonder why your brother is here instead of at his own festivities. 

Loki is having a staring contest with my cat, which, haha, he's gonna lose. Mogwaii has never met a human he couldn't stare into utter submission - hence his special, organic, gluten free, very pricey wet food and extremely expensive water fountain. I clear my throat and your brother looks at me, blinks a few times and shakes his head like he's coming out of a fugue. I'd explain his folly, but he ruined my face, so I delight in my cat's superiority, instead.

"Are you here for a reason, or were you just in the neighborhood and decided that you couldn't live another a minute unless you ruined my awesome makeup?"

"No, I. I mean, yes? I mean, I was in the neighborhood and I wanted to make sure you weren't spending New Year's alone."

I feel my left eyebrow shoot upwards, "Really?"

"Yeah," he says, and at least he has the grace to look shame-faced. "I'm really sorry about the whole whatever happened to your face thing."

Which really doesn't make it any better. Ass.

"I'm heading out, so if there's nothing else?" I ask, pointedly ignoring the opportunity to accept his exceptionally awful apology.

"I'll give you a ride!" he practically yelps.

I know something is up, but I don't know what. Normally, I'd probably be curious about it, but I just want to get my drink on, maybe embarrass myself in front of my coworkers and random strangers by dancing very badly for a while, and forget all about this last week or so. The quickest way to accomplish any of those things is to get to the party, and while it's not too far to Jane's, it _is_ cold. "Fine, I'll take the ride on the condition that you don't speak. Deal?"

He nods, and I take his silent acquiescence as a very good sign.

We get to Jane's without exchanging a word. It should probably be awkward, but it's pretty much great. I get out of his little truck smiling, and don't even mind that much when he gets out after me, locks the doors, and offers me his arm. It's kinda nice.

Jane is lit when she opens the door, and thank fuck she's a happy and forgetful drunk, because she just giggles and waves us in when I introduce her to your brother. I don't know why he follows me in, but we take off our coats, throwing them on the pile in the bedroom. We end up making our way through the throngs of co-workers and strangers that fill Jane's condo back to the table with the liquor and mixers, and I manage to avoid actually introducing him at all. I make a lovely, perfect vodka and cranberry with a squeeze of lime and am about to take the first sip when the plastic cup is snatched out of my hand.

Your brother looks freshly scandalized, and for the life of me, I can't figure out why. I'm of age, as they say, and I know for a fact that your family drinks. Your Nan practically drank me under the table at Christmas, for God's sake. "What do you think you're doing?" I shout, mostly to be heard over the music, but also because, _what the heck, man?! Uncool._

Your brother, the _idiot_ , doesn't even have the good sense to look even slightly abashed about the fact that he's holding my drink out of my reach. He mumbles something that I can't hear over the pounding bass line of the Beastie Boys classic Fight for Your Right. "Huh!?" 

He shouts, "Alcohol isn't good for the baby!" at the precise moment there is a break in the song. And suddenly all eyes are on me as the song continues. "What are you ta- for fucks sake!" I'm not sure how he's gotten this idea in his head, but I am not having this conversation here, in full view of approximately 70% of my colleagues. Even if I could hear him, or he could hear me, I'm not going to feed the rumor mill any further tasty morsels. Work in two days is gonna _suuuuck_.

I grab Loki's hand and pull him along behind me, till we're once again standing on Jane's doorstep outside. I didn't grab my coat and it's Chicago in the dead of winter, so yeah, I immediately regret that decision. I get straight to the point, "Not pregnant. Give me my drink."

"But, wait. You're not?" He seems fairly incredulous about that, and I can't help but wonder if that's the only way he's able to imagine that you and I could possibly be engaged - that our ostensible relationship is some sort of honor thing. Not sure why that hurts so much.

"Nope, my womb is barren of the fruits of your brother. Drink now, asshole."

He looks like he's swallowed a bug, and hands over the cup of ambrosia, "But, but Sif said she heard it from your friend..."

I gulp down the drink, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, "I think, yeah, I'm just going to head home."

At some point, I must've gone back inside, poured myself a couple of fingers of straight vodka, put on my coat and left. I know this because I find myself walking home, sipping lukewarm Absolut out of a red Solo cup. 

There's a muffled thumping sound behind me, and under normal circumstances that would likely disturb me enough to make me fondle the taser I keep in my purse, but I find myself not caring in the slightest.

I know the rhythm of that half-sorta-almost-run. "What are you? The fucking fun police? Is it your mission to harsh my buzz? Are you trying to ruin my New Year's on purpose, or is that just a happy bonus for you?"

Loki is wearing that stupid jacket, and he looks cold and miserable. Good. "I'm really sorry, you know, for everything. Can I do something to, I dunno, to make it better?"

I'm going to blame the alcohol for this one. I kick him square in the jimmies. "Happy New Year. Now we're even."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some unexpected, relatively awful stuff come up, and haven't been able to write funny, or anything, really, though I dearly wanted to. Apologies for the delay.
> 
> Hugs to all!


	10. Good Morning, Sunshine - part deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally uploaded the first part of this last week accidentally, so sorry for any confusion. Don't drink and write, kids.

I wake up on my couch. There's an empty bottle of wine on the floor next to me and some dodgy pizza congealing on a plate on my coffee table. I don't precisely remember when it's from, last week sometime, hopefully not older. Mogs, that little bastard, is nibbling cheese off that pizza delicately. He's lactose intolerant, so I'll be paying for that later. I swat at him, but he gives me that supercilious stare of his, and I apologize as I pick up the plate.

Groaning, I lever myself upright and stagger to my small kitchen area in search of water. As I gulp glass after glass of sweet, refreshing, life-giving h2o I promise myself that I will never mix liquor and wine again. Of course I've made that solemn vow a few times before, but hope springs eternal, and all that.

After the third or fourth glass, I am ready for a shower and bed. I'm not planning on going anywhere today or talking to anyone but my cat overlord. That plan goes straight out the window after I check my phone once I've done the bathroom thing. There's 5 missed calls from Sif, 4 from your mom another 2 from Heimdall and 3 texts from your brother, who has been relabeled Loki - The Asshole in my contacts. Which is when I remember that I resorted to violence after last night's little pregnancy debacle.

Needless to say, it will not be fun explaining the situation to too-nosy-for-their-own-good coworkers. I'm going to be the subject of bump-watch for the next few months, and I am not looking forward to it.

I listen to my messages first, unwilling to read the texts for right now. The first one is from your little sister apologizing for the misunderstanding, and promising that everything has been explained to the rest of your family already. The next few are just asking for me to call back, and then... your mom tells me that you are awake.

Oh, Jesus.

* * *

Your mom meets me in the lobby, looking radiantly happy and troubled at the same time. She hugs me until my spine cracks, and leaves a hand resting on my arm as she solemnly tells me that you are fine, mostly. Just a small complication due to the bump on your head, more common than she'd realized. There's a buzzing in my mind, a fuzziness to the edges of my sight that can't be good, as she keeps talking around whatever it is she's trying to say.

They're all there, crowded around your bed - a wall of family that blocks you from view. I can tell without hearing the words, just by the tenor of his voice, how happy Odin is. Sif turns her head and her smile is blinding as she waves for me to come over and hip-checks Loki to make a little space for me next to your bed.

It's all about to come crashing down around me, and I am not ready for it just yet, so linger for a few more seconds in the doorway. Frigga is already at your side, holding Odin's hand tightly as she looks at you. I'm beyond uncomfortable, but Heimdall looks at me gives me a smile and curiously excited thumbs up. Then, he's at my side, whispering, "Just go with it, I got this," as he tugs me to your bedside.

"Hi," I say, because I am lame and not particularly imaginative when it comes to greeting you, my extraordinarily handsome fake fiancee. I thought I'd gotten sort of used to your face, gotten an immunity by virtue of so much exposure to your square jaw, high cheek bones and straight nose, but I haven't. God, your eyes are _blue_. 

You're more gorgeous now then you ever were outside my booth any of those mornings you greeted me with that smile. Being this close to you while you're awake makes me feel like I've lost at least half of my IQ points. There's practically little cartoon birds and hearts floating around my head.

You look confused, as well you should, "And you are?"

Frigga looks concerned, "I had hoped seeing you would have jogged his memories, but... Are you sure you don't remember Darcy, Sugar Lumps?"

You look annoyed, "I told you I feel fine, and I know I've asked you to stop calling me that. I remember asking you a thousand times."

"You'll always be my little Sugar Lumps, my little boy, just like your brother is always going to be my little Sugar Pie, my other little boy, and your sister is my Sugar Baby, my baby girl. You're all my sweet children and you always will be. You'll just have to get used to it. Actually, can't really believe you all aren't already, my sweet Sugar Loves."

"Mo-om!" You three siblings exclaim, exasperated, at the same time, and I catch Odin ducking his head, hiding his huge grin.

She shrugs, and kisses your forehead, "It's the way it is. Now, this is Darcy. She's recently consented to be your fiancee. She's a lovely young lady, and you love her. The doctor explained that you have had some swelling in your brain, and you have a mild, completely normal case of amnesia,-"

"Mother! I was sitting right here when he explained all of that. I'm not a moron! And I'm telling you I don't know that person!" You point at me, and I feel my painted on smile start to slip, and tense up, readying myself to dart away. Oh god, I'm _that person_.

Heimdall looks at me sternly, and grabs hold of my wrist, stopping my escape before I can even start moving. 

"Guys, guys! Let's not start arguing, this isn't the time. Why don't you all go get coffee while I have a little chat with my god-son."

Once we exit the elevator in the lobby and everyone else starts heading in the direction of the cafeteria, I excuse myself to the ladies room. I feel like my hangover might actually be fatal, and maybe that wouldn't be terrible. Throwing up doesn't make me feel better, but it does make my breath reek, so I'll have to shell out money for some gum before I meet back up with your family.

Sighing, I splash water on my face and exit my temporary sanctuary.

Because the universe hates liars, your brother is waiting for me.

"I should probably be honest about the fact that I played Texas hold 'em with my brother with you as the prize."

Sputtering, I wonder how it's possible to be offended by a single sentence that doesn't include the words "Show", "Me", "Your" or "Tits".

"Also, he was still in a coma. I still lost. I know. I can't believe I went there. You're not a thing, you're a person. A perfectly capable person. I mean, I don't think of you like that, I just was... Being stupid."

"You barely tolerate me," I respond, feeling like someone has pulled the proverbial rug out from under me. I'll be honest, I am not sure if that's a question or a statement.

"As an only child, I know you don't understand, but in some cases siblings can't help but want what the other has. And, I'll admit, I am genuinely curious about you. And...

I like you. And I'm sorry. There, I said it. I like you and I apologize." He's looking somewhere over my shoulder, cheeks tinged pink. "I've been unfair to you, and I'll make sure that it won't happen again."

This is where normal people would respond. I, on the other hand, feel like my head is pounding so hard, people could surely see it expand and contract. So all I can get out is, "Huh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best. For reals. Thank you.


	11. The Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki redeems himself a little.

I make my excuses after meeting up with the rest of your family, and practically run screaming for the exit.

It's not hard to convince them I'm sick, since I look like death warmed over. Hilda makes noises about having someone give me a ride home, but since the obvious choice is Loki, I assure her that I can get home faster by taking the train. She looks at me like she knows I'm lying, but thankfully doesn't make too big of a deal about it.

Once home, I make intimate acquaintance with my toilet, glad beyond measure that I wasn't lazy on my days off, and have actually cleaned recently.

I curl up in my bed, still clothed, but unable to come up with the energy needed to get undressed. My phone rings a few times, but I don't bother answering it, preferring to continue napping.

The semi-peaceful solitude doesn't last very long, unfortunately. Somebody, a horrible person, no doubt, bangs relentlessly on my door. Yelling "Go away!" doesn't help, it just makes my cat get up from his spot next to my head, and give me a disapproving glance before he meanders out of my vicinity.

My apartment is small, something I have never been more grateful for, as I don't have to stumble very far to get to the front door. I keep the chain on, and open it just a crack. Your brother smiles at me, holds up a bag and asks innocently if he can come in.

My life was so much easier before the holidays. 

Reluctantly, I close the door unlatch the chain, and let him in, making a vague gesture to my couch. He says something I don't pay attention to, and go into the bathroom to splash some water on my face and brush the taste of decay out of my mouth. The latter is remedied easily enough with a liberal application of toothpaste and mouth wash. Taking a gander in the mirror when doing this confirms my suspicions: I look like shit. 

I gingerly take off my clothes, turn on my shower, and steel myself. The water is cold, as expected, and suddenly I'm wide awake and shrieking. 

"Are you ok in there?" your brother asks through the door.

"Yeah, just fucking peachy," I say, as I swipe soap around my body and thank god that the water has warmed considerably. "I'll be out in a second."

It's more than a second, more than a minute, before I feel human enough to face Loki. My hair is still wet, and it's making big, dark, cold spots on my shirt, but I don't have it in me to care about that or my ridiculous Harry Potter flannel pajama bottoms.

Wandering back into my living room, my jaw cracks as I yawn. There's music playing softly on my stereo, an Al Green record my dad had loved. I don't see your brother, but I do smell something delicious. Following the scent into my galley kitchen, I have to say that it surprises me how comfortable Loki seems stirring a pot of something bubbling on my stove.

His sleeves have been pushed up to his elbows and he does a little skipping dance step over to the left as he looks through my cupboards. I can't believe this is the same guy who's spent the last few days practically torturing me. "Whatcha doin'?"

He jumps and gives a high pitched squeal. It's strangely satisfying. Turning, he blushes and says, "Nan sent me over with dinner, she figured you'd need something nutritious, since you're sick, and all."

"Tell her I said thank you. I probably would have ended up eating dry cereal." He keeps looking through my cupboards, and I take pity on him, "Are you looking for something in particular, or are you just snooping?"

There's that grin of his again, "A little of both, to be honest, but mostly bowls."

I push him to the side, dig around behind a stack of plates, and pull out two bowls.

He serves up the food and we migrate to the couch to eat. The record ends with a hiss and a click as the arm swings back to its resting position. In the absence of music, I turn on the tv, and can't contain my squeal of delight when I see 2012 has just started.

Your brother looks at me oddly, "You like this movie?"

"You don't?"

"Well, I didn't actually see it, but based on the trailers, it didn't appear to be one of Cusack's best," he hedges.

"It's not supposed to be. It's supposed to be trope-y and cliched and terrible with bad science and awesome explosions," I say heatedly.

"It certainly looked like it had all of those things," he says dubiously.

"Oh my god. You're a movie, sorry - _film_ snob, aren't you?"

He shrugs and slurps his soup a little, "Maybe a little."

"The whole purpose of movies like this is mostly to just turn off your brain for a while. Plus, I find it satisfying to guess the plot before it happens. Like, you know five minutes into the movie, that the step dad is going to totally eat it, just like you know as soon as John Cusack mentions his book, someone else is going to have read it at some point, or have it in their bag or something. Everything doesn't have to be educational or enriching all the time, you know."

Loki doesn't look convinced, but doesn't protest when I turn up the volume just a little. Mogwaii knows that the sound of explosions on my tv will inevitably result in both treats and being petted for as long as he can stand it, so he saunters in like he owns the joint. To be fair, for all intents and purposes, he does.

Your brother eyes my cat warily when he settles his considerable bulk between us. Mogs sniffs the air and stares at Loki, who relents almost immediately and fishes a chunk of chicken out of his soup and puts it on a napkin he gently places in front of my cat. Mogwaii gulps it down in a single bite and resumes his staring. When Loki starts spooning around in his bowl again, I laugh.

"No, don't give him more. He'll think you're a pushover if you do, and then you'll be screwed. Stop staring, Mogwaii, leave the nice man alone," I tell my cat severely as I scoop him into my lap. He pokes my bladder with a heavy paw a few times in retaliation before he settles down. Fucker.

Loki shakes his head a little, "Mogwaii, huh? Gremlins, right?"

"Yeah. But I should have listened to the movie. Shouldn't have fed him after midnight, he's turned into a monster."

Your brother smiles at me, and I don't know if it's the fact that I feel pretty good for the first time today or what, but I feel a wave of warmth and contentment. 

We watch the movie together, and join in making fun of the obvious 'twists' in the plot and the frankly obvious emoting happening on screen. Pretty soon we're talking over the dialogue, adding our own embellishments, and I laugh myself silly when Loki affects an awful Russian accent and bellows "Peasants away!".

Because I've slept most of the day, I'm not remotely tired and end up watching the next movie, too. Halfway through Die Hard 3, Loki passes out and refuses to wake up. He's still asleep after the the credits roll, so I push him over onto a pillow, pick up his sock covered feet and stretch him out as best I can across my too-short couch. After flinging a blanket over him, I turn off the lights and head back to bed.

I try to think about what I'll say to you the next time I see you, but I end up thinking about how funny your brother could be.

Loki's gone in the morning when I get up, but he's left a pot of coffee and a pair of clean bowls and a coffee mug in the drying rack next to my sink. There's a sticky note on the fridge. _Thanks_ , is all it says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry about the delay. The S.O. is finally home, and I got distracted...


	12. We Meet Again, For The Very First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heimdall's 'come to Jesus' talk worked. Maybe a little too well.

I wander into the ICU, waving hello to the nurses I recognize, bracing myself to meet you after yesterday's awkward encounter. Your room is empty, though, and I feel a stab of panic. Frantically checking my cell for messages yields nothing new, so I head to the nurses station.

The nurse manning the desk is nice, and very sympathetic to the apparently obvious distress on my face when she tells me you've been moved downstairs to a normal room. It's great news, that you're on the mend, but I don't feel like celebrating. 

As I get off the elevator some tall, very thin blonde woman in fantastic heels practically shoves me out of the way, but I don't say anything. The _I-will-cut-your-heart-out-with-a-spoon_ expression on her face scares me silent.

Walking down the hallway, I decide to grab a cup of coffee in the little waiting room before I make my way to you. An older lady is gossiping about a fight she saw in another patients room, and by her description, I guess that it was probably the blonde woman from the elevator.

When the wheelchair bound lady describes how the man had told the blonde that they were broken up, and she had retorted that she'd been under the impression that they were merely on a break, I can't help but linger to listen further. Apparently the fight culminated in the man mentioning that he'd paid out of the nose for her nose, and the blonde grabbing her breasts and screaming that he paid for these, too, "What was he going to do about it? Send a repo-guy?" I'm still giggling when I step back into the hallway.

The curtains are open and light is flooding your room when I finally find it. You're sitting up, and you notice my entrance immediately. The wide smile that stretches across your face is very unexpected, but I can't find it in me to care.

"Hi!" You _sound_ like you're happy to see me, and you _look_ like you're happy to see me. I check behind me, just in case, but there's no one there. "Darcy! Come in, come in. Sit! I'm so glad to see you."

There are completely unwarranted notes of welcome and excitement in your voice, and it should worry me, I know it should. Still, all I can do is return your smile dumbly, drift into the room and take a seat in the chair next to your bed. I can't help but notice how good you smell, and how you accomplished that, I can't begin to imagine. 

I try to speak, really I do, but all that happens is my mouth opens and closes. You seem to be waiting for me to actually make some sort of response, so I croak out a hello. I swear I'm a competent and well-read woman, but, for some reason, I am reduced to monosyllabic grunting in your general vicinity.

"I have to apologize for my behavior yesterday. My only excuse is the shock of the amnesia. Forgive me?" you ask, a soft expression on your face, as you grab my hand. "Dahl explained everything when you guys went for coffee. How you saved me, how you make my family happy, how you make me happy. That I'm a lucky man to have someone as special as you in my life. Who cares if I don't remember, right?"

Your fingers stroke my pulse point, and I nod. You could probably have told me you want to eat my liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti and I would have handed you a knife and lifted up my shirt. "We have our whole lives to figure this out again. And I'm glad I get to do it with you."

* * *

There are days when the easy, monotonous nature of my employment is a benefit. This is not one of those days. 

I'm so deep in my thoughts that nothing short of Batman handing over a token because the Batmobile broke down would have gotten my attention.

As it is, I spend 8.5 hours going over everything, over and over. 

I'm no closer to understanding or coming to terms with my dreams apparently coming true, than I was after walking out of your hospital room earlier today. I don't think I'm ready to face you again, especially since I don't have an answer to your question. It's too surreal to process. 

Joe Jr is standing in front of my door, a huge, horse-shoe shaped wreath of white carnations. I'm going to give him points for not just letting himself into my apartment, because he's done that before, many times. One of the times I explained how illegal and invasive that is must've stuck, thank god.

He looks sad, like someone kicked his puppy, and I can't muster up the animosity to get angry at him. Joe Jr's weird and doesn't understand personal boundaries, but he's also the guy who brought me Kleenex and cleaned my kitchen for me after my dad died. He's somewhat sweet under all his swaggering and macho posturing.

"I got these at the track, thought they might spruce up your place. I was hoping that you'd like them enough to go on a date with me." 

I pat his shoulder and shake my head, "Ah, Joe Jr, you know I'm not enough woman for you. Actually, Janice in 6c just broke up with her boyfriend, she might need cheering up. Besides, she's always said how much she likes your car. Why don't you haul those suckers upstairs and see how she's doing?"

Joe Jr brightens immediately, and now that I think about it, this might not end in disaster. Those two might actually be perfect for each other. He grabs the stand with the flowers and heads up the stairs. I'm glad he doesn't look back at me.

I let myself into the apartment, and am ready to heat up the leftovers from yesterday, pour a glass of wine and cuddle with my cat. Instead, I find myself opening my closet and looking through the dresses hanging, as if I've already made my choice. Maybe I have.

I pull out the two light colored dresses I own. When I bought them, I'd never thought that either would be in the running for my wedding dress. Neither are particularly formal, but I can't go through with this in jeans - or if I think about it too long or hard. All I know is that if I don't do something, the years stretch on in front of me, one after the next, with me stuck here and comfortable in the status quo - Florence just a dream I take out and dust off every so often.

I've always wanted to be the kind of person who had the means and opportunity to travel. I've always wanted to be the kind of person who got the handsome guy at the end of a movie. This is my chance on both accounts. I'm not a liar anymore.

I really am going to marry you.

* * *

The dress with the vintage sort of look seems more festive. It's one of the only things I've bought in the last few years just because it made me feel pretty. I hang it around my neck and try to decide which pair of shoes look best. I've got the left shoe from the black stilettos on, and the right from the pink pumps I bought for a spring wedding last year. Wiggling my toes, I wonder if Joe Jr actually did stretch them out, or if I'm imagining that they are looser.

I do an impression of a flamingo, lifting one foot up, while assessing the other. I like the black ones, but maybe they're inappropriate, too sexy?

Someone knocks on my door. I clomp over, fully expecting Joe Jr to be standing there, but it's Loki. Who else would it be when I have a dress draped over an old Hot Topic t-shirt (sparkly Wonder Woman had thankfully shed her glitter years ago), a Mr Rogers-style sweater, hole-y sweatpants pushed up to my knees and, of course, the shoes.

He'd been smiling when I opened the door, but he laughs in my face as soon as he takes in my ensemble. "That's a lot of look," he says as he walks in. To my surprise, he does a very good Tim Gunn impression. Bending over to pet my attention-whore cat, he remarks that he liked the older seasons of Project Runway better than the new ones. _What_?

"Yeah, Sif and Ma like watching it after dinner on Thursday. Lured in with baked goods and stayed for Michael Kors being bitchy. That man had a way with imagery. See? I know not everything has to be educational - though I've learned more about shoddily constructed garments than I generally admit to," he grins.

With this in mind, I figure that I can at least get a second opinion on the shoe situation. "What do you think? Black?" I hold my right foot up and out of the way, and repeat the pose with the left. "Or pink?"

"The black ones. What's the occasion?"

"Oh, uhm. The wedding. Thor didn't tell you?" It's really for the best, to remind myself that I am getting you - the brother I've had a crush on for months. The brother who wears suits, has a good education, great job and can whisk me away to far off, exotic destinations. That I get a family in the process is not the only reason I'm doing this.

Your brother's forehead scrunches up, "Tell me what?"

"We're getting married the day after tomorrow," I smile, or that's what I want my face to do, and hope it's doing, even though saying it out loud like that, twice, is making me freak out a little. A lot.

Loki blinks, "Shit."

Then he seems to straighten up, and grins at me, "Well. Great! Welcome to the family." I'm completely bewildered when he walks passed me and turns the knob. "Sorry. Gotta go. Forgot I have to meet someone. About this thing," and he darts out of the apartment before I can even think to say goodbye.

What the hell just happened?

I get out a bottle of wine and call Jane. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're closing in on the wedding. Egads.
> 
> Huge thanks to everyone for being lovely and awesome!


	13. One Is The Loneliest Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which marriage is attempted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who has shown so much lovely support for this little fic. This one's for you. Hope you enjoy it!

Sometimes the best things in life are spontaneous. I am unconvinced that this is going to be one of them. That's not going to stop me, though.

I don't want to be one of those people that die alone and who are eaten by their cats. I want to wake up next to a handsome man. I want to have someone who cares. Several someone's. A family of someone's. 

So what if I don't know what I'm doing. I take comfort in the fact that for once, I am taking risks and making the crazy choices.

I went into work yesterday, walked into Jane's office and put two pieces of paper on the mountain of crap that covers her desk. She took the top one, and looked at me over the top of her glasses. "You know I can't approve time off in January," she says.

I shrugged, "You _can_ , you just _don't_. And in this case, I think you can, considering I've worked every single holiday for the last three years."

Jane looked at me with her stern boss face on, and picked up the other piece of paper. Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline, "What's this?"

"A wedding invitation."

"I thought you were joking."

"Apparently not joking, Jane."

"But Coma Guy? Come on, Darce, you can't be serious, that's - that's crazy!"

"Jane, no offense, but I am fucking well already crazy! I've sat in that booth almost every day for five years, like a veal. A lonely veal, trapped in a box. And now a handsome man, with a nice family, wants to marry me and take me places and do things. Not accepting that proposal would be crazy. So give me my time off, and come to my wedding. Or don't, and I quit."

Jane glared at me for a while, before she finally said, "Fine, but let the record show, I'm doing this against my best judgment."

"And let Nat come, too."

"Jesus, Darcy. Ok, fine, she can have an hour extra for lunch. You're lucky you're my favorite."

"Love you, boss-lady."

"Yeah, yeah. Go on, get outta here, nutjob. Your shift starts in five minutes."

* * *

You're obviously not well enough for air travel in your condition, so you've booked us a Caribbean cruise for the honeymoon. I'm trying not to be nervous about it, but I've never been on a boat for more than a few hours before, and I've only seen the ocean once, when I was really little, so yeah, it's not nerves at all - it's terror. Poseidon Adventure and the remake with Fergie are all too fresh in my mind. I try to focus on the fact that I'll be wearing shorts and a t-shirt tomorrow, definitely a new experience in January.

Dressing myself at home, I find that my hands are shaking too much to put in my contacts. Eyeliner is likewise out of the question. I burn myself on my flat iron, and am going to give that up as a lost cause, too, but I realize how stupid it looks with half of my hair straight and the other half curly/frizzy. By some miracle, I manage to finish the rest of my hair without injuring myself again.

Because I ended up taking for-freaking-ever getting ready, I miss my train. It's way too cold not to be wearing layers and long-johns. My tights do very little to protect from the ice cold wind knifing through me and I am reduced to flapping my arms and stomping my feet to keep my blood flowing.

When the next train arrives, twenty minutes later, I am shivering and grateful for the meager warmth the car provides. Going to the middle row of benches, I cling to the hope that when the doors at either end open, the drafts don't give me hypothermia.

I text Jane to let her know I'm running late and try to imagine what my new life is going to be like. Will Fluffy and Mogs get along? Will you freak out if I leave dishes in the sink? Do you have a record player? Are you going to be repulsed by my cellulite when you see me in swimwear? What happens when we take our clothes off?

The announcement for my stop is virtually impossible to decipher, distorted by crappy speakers and the clanging of the train as it slows, and it's really no wonder people who are unfamiliar with the city get so hopelessly turned around. I know I need to disembark, but I have an almost impossible to ignore desire to stay in my seat. I could just get lost. 

Some part of me insists I get up, though, and I do. In a complete daze, I get off the train and my steps gain speed until I am practically running. It's not long before I'm standing in front of the hospital chapel doors. I push them open way too hard and they slam into the wall, drawing everyone's attention.

Jane rushes to my side, and suddenly everything is crystal clear. I wave and try to smile at the assembled crowd - your family, some of what I guess must be your friends, since Fandral is sitting amongst them. There's only a few of my friends since most of them are working, and the minister who is going to perform the ceremony.

The music starts and I automatically start walking, but I look down, and I realize that I was supposed to stop by the bathroom to take off my outerwear and swap my boots for my heels, "Be right back!"

The door squeaks as it shuts in my face, and Jane looks concerned as she takes in my wild eyes and shaky hands. I give her my boots, and use her shoulder to brace myself as I slip on my heels. She helps me out of my coat, and gives me a slightly wilted bouquet before she slips back inside. I hear the bridal march start again, take a deep breath and remind myself that I'll never be lonely again.

Jane grabs my arm when I make my entrance and steers me up the aisle.

It's fine. Everything is fine. I can do this.

You're wearing pajamas and a suit jacket, and Loki stands behind you, probably ready to say something inconvenient. I try to ignore the part of my brain that tells me I kind of adore that about him.

Your parents and sister are sitting there in the front row grinning at me. Hilda is holding Heimdall's arm, and all I know is that he's not really smiling, he looks sort of apologetic. I try to ignore the unease that grows with every step I take closer, especially when Jane hands me off to you. 

You are just as gorgeous as you always are, even in that ridiculous outfit, and I decide to focus on that. On you. I can totally keep it together for long enough to get through this.

I can't hear anything over the ringing in my ears. 

I'm going to throw up. 

I'm going to pass out.

I'm not ready for this.

The minister moves his lips, and I find myself speaking before I really know what I'm doing, "I object!"

"Well, we haven't really gotten to that part, yet," the minister says, clearly confused by this turn of events.

"Oh, good," Loki says, as he smiles at me from his spot behind you, "because I definitely object, too."

"What about you?" the minister turns to you, and asks.

"Uhm, I'm thinking," you say, looking between your brother and I.

"What the hell is going on?" Odin asks, loudly.

I turn to face the now captive audience, and your dad makes a _get-on-with-it_ gesture with his hands as everyone seems to lean forward in their seats.

I take a deep breath, "I'm sort of in love with your son."

Odin nods, "Yeah, we know. That's why we're all here." His expression says clearly _duh_. Your Nan takes a picture, and the flash makes little spots dance in my eyes as I prepare to lay it all out there.

Pointing to you, I blurt, "Not that one, the other one."

Behind me, the minister sighs and closes his book with a thud, and Odin gives your brother a look like, _Goddamnit boy_ , as he asks, "Loki, what did you do?"

"He didn't _do_ anything, he doesn't even, well, anyway. Uhm, it's me, my fault. How you doing, Hilda? Good?" A click of her camera, and she gives me a thumbs up. She looks as spry as ever, and there's never going to be a better place than a hospital to straighten this all out, if she does have a heart attack.

"You remember that day at the hospital? What am I saying, of course you do, so yeah. There was a small misunderstanding. I had just, you know, jumped on the tracks to save Thor, but I couldn't get anybody to tell me how you were, Thor, and I was so worried... So yeah, one of the nurses misunderstood my relationship with you, and told the doctor I was your fiancee, and well, it's not true."

Is it too late to fling myself out of a window?

I feel tears coming on as I look around at everyone staring at me, "I was never engaged to Thor."

I glance back at your brother, who is rubbing his neck. "Why didn't you just say something?" he asks, and why hadn't I? Why do this to not just myself, but to you and your lovely family? I focus on you.

It's somehow easier to look at you, now, even in this moment of extreme embarrassment, to function normally around you, "We never even met before that day on the tracks, and then we were all in the hospital, and I just couldn't tell everyone the truth, because I had to know you were going to be ok. And then I couldn't come clean, because the truth was, I fell in love with you," I turn to face your family.

Odin looks perplexed, "You fell in love with me?"

I kind of half choke, half laugh, "No, I mean, yes. I mean I fell in love with all of you," and, oh Jesus, now I'm crying, "I went from being all alone, to being a part of a family. I was suddenly a fiancee, a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister, a friend. I just, I just, wanted to belong somewhere. And you know, I might have saved your life on the tracks that day, but you really saved mine too. You let me be a part of your family, and I haven't had that in a really long time. So thank you, Thor, even though it was just for a little while, I will always treasure this. I'll always love you, guys. I'm really sorry, so very sorry I lied."

I remember the other thing, "Oh, and I am _very_ sorry about your carpet."

"Wait, what about my carpet?" you ask.

An instant later, the chapel doors slam open, and the tall blonde from the other day strides in, "I object to this wedding!" she says loudly, as she tosses her hair, "I'm engaged to Thor Odinsson."

"Get in line, lady," Odin says, deadpan, from his seat.

Fandral stands up, "And I object to her objection!"

I don't need an engraved invitation to know that there'll never be a better opportunity for a quick, cowardly escape. Everyone is too focused on the new drama happening at the front, to notice me. ("I was merely taking time to consider your offer!" the blonde yells, as you bellow, "You broke up with me! And you! You son of a bitch!", "Who is this woman?" your mom asks.)

I grab my coat and boots, and close the doors quietly behind me.


	14. Changes One Makes In The Aftermath Of Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the package.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking liberties with everything. Fair warning.

So there I am, bracing myself against the wall outside of the chapel, in my wedding sort-of finery, having just left you, ostensibly the man of my dreams, at the alter.

I'm crying, and I'm not one of those pretty criers, either, so I know my face is swelling and red and blotchy, as I make an attempt not to sob or hiccup too loudly. I'm trying to get my heels kicked off, and am struggling with my coat, and it's all just too much. Like trying to climb Mount Everest in bunny slippers.

I give up fairly quickly and stagger off to the bathrooms. Frankly, the dead last thing I want is for anyone from inside the chapel to find me weeping and cursing immediately outside of it.

Once ensconced in a stall, I give myself a stern talking to. Eventually it actually works, and I get myself together. Exiting the hospital, and half-jogging to the train station, all I can think of is my bed - crawling in, pulling the covers over my head, and never, ever coming back out. 

As I trudge up the steps to my apartment, I long for that far off day when all of this becomes just another funny story, something I can look back on and shake my head at, as I laugh at the folly of youth.

Joe Jr and Janice from 6c look loved up and happy as they wave to me when they pass me in the stairwell. It's not that I'm jealous of them (oh, but I am, so very much), it's more like I want the world to suffer with me, and seeing them grinning is just... Gah! That said, they appear to be the only good and decent thing I've done these last few weeks, so I do my best to smile back. 

Coming clean about being a lying liar made almost entirely of lies has exhausted me, so I sleep until the sun goes down, oblivious to the buzzing of my phone in my purse. Feeling like I've been put through wringer is exactly what I deserve, but it's certainly not fun.

When I finally wake up, I check my phone, and respond, as apologetically as I can, to Sif and Heimdall. They're sweet to worry, but it's not them I'd been hoping to hear from. With my life in disarray, I decide to go dark for a few days - I've already been approved for time off, so why not? 

After 48 hours, though, it becomes clear: going dark is pretty boring, and doesn't do a thing to make me actually feel better about myself. I wonder what will.

* * *

I'm sitting in the booth, reading a magazine, grateful that there is a lull and I have time to myself. A ping of metal hitting the little collection cup built into the counter barely registers, but my hand shoots out to scoop it into the tallying machine automatically. The shape of the token feels wrong under my fingers, and instead of completing the gesture burned into my muscle memory, I look at the thing. It's a ring.

I look up and see Loki grinning at me, with Odin and Frigga, Hilda and Heimdall all smiling beatifically in the background, while Sif claps delightedly. 

"Darcy..." Loki says, drawing out my name, "I have a question for you."

I twiddle the ring in my fingers and hold my breath, a burst of pure joy filling me.

"Why didn't you just come clean?" 

I wake up sweating and shaky.

* * *

My palms are moist when I walk into the Admissions Office at the college I dropped out of to take care of my dad. I'd been putting off my life for too long, and now that I was doing something about it, I guess panic is normal.

Surprisingly, I'm not too far off from graduating, even if I decide to switch to focus on business management, rather than my original Political Science. I don't sign up for anything too involved, just an American History class I hadn't managed to swing the last time around.

Jane is great, though, when I call her after my appointment there, and tell her that I'm ready to come back to work. She doesn't mention anything about the last few weeks, just tells me that I can come in for my normal shift tomorrow, and that's that.

At first, I worry that I'll see you everyday, but you must've found a new way to work, because I don't see you again. I tell myself it's for the best, and really it is. Without constant, daily reminders, and with more to occupy my time, I don't think about the weeks of lies much. 

Because winter in Chicago is the season of illness, I end up racking up the overtime covering shifts for a lot of my coworkers. I don't know if Jane said something to them, but no one mentions my weeks of insanity, for which I am supremely grateful. Pretty soon, it's been a few weeks since the wedding that wasn't, and I am thinking about it less and less. I'm too busy, to be honest, between the extra work and school. 

I see Sif walking with a group of ebullient teens through the campus after class one day, and shockingly enough, she doesn't do that thing where you pretend not to see someone and walk the other way. Instead, she runs over and gives me a hug. Her dark hair is tucked under a cloche, her eyes are bright and she seems excited and happy, not cold and hurried like I feel. 

"It's good to see you! How are you? Oh my god, do you go here? I'm pretty sure I'm coming here next fall. What do you think? Do you like it? I'm rambling, don't mind me," she says. I cannot believe that she is even speaking to me, much less so exuberantly.

"It's nice to see you, too. And to answer your questions, in order, good, yes, it's a great school, and yes, I actually do," I answer, glad that I am not persona non grata to at least one of the Odinsson's, though, to be fair, I haven't exactly reached out. Too embarrassed.

A girl I vaguely recognize from weeks ago at the train station, calls for Sif to hurry up, and she yells back, "Just a sec! God, so impatient!"

"It's fine, go on and catch up with your friends," I tell her, feeling suddenly lighter than I have in a long while.

"Maybe we can meet for coffee or something one of these days."

"Sure, that would be great. You know my number," I answer, fully expecting not to hear from her, but happy she doesn't appear to hate my guts.

She hugs me again and takes off after her friends with a little wave in my direction.

* * *

The semester comes to an end as spring starts to thaw the frozen corners of the city. I'm so pleased with my grades, and confident that I can do better and possibly even contend with a few additional classes, that I sign myself up for more, that I send grant applications and submit applications for scholarships to foreign universities. I start to think that maybe, just maybe, I might actually finish the school thing before I turn thirty, that maybe I'll get an adventure, that there could conceivably be better employment opportunities I am genuinely qualified for somewhere on the horizon.

I've had coffee and lunch a few times with Sif over the months since we met at school, and it's strange. Not bad, just odd, since I never really thought of myself as someone who gives advice. Which I do, give her advice, about which classes seem to be popular and which professors are interesting. I'm only 7 years older than her, but sometimes she makes me feel ancient, especially when she tells me no one says "on fleek" anymore, or how drop-crotch pants are totally in for summer.

As spring moves into nearly-summer, my life has settled into a nice, predictable pattern, and I find myself going out more and more. Not just with Jane or Nat, though our getting together is also more frequent, but with guys as well. The dates are uniformly pretty bad, but I am proud that I'm getting out there again.

In May, I get an invitation in the mail and when I open it to see that I'm cordially invited to attend a celebration in honor of Sif graduating, I'm fairly shocked. I mean, we had certainly been friendly, Sif and I, but I hadn't thought that the rest of the family would be remotely interested in seeing me again.

I look at the little RSVP slip for a long time before I finally check the decline box. I'm doing the right thing. I know I am, because, well, I am still too embarrassed to face them all. Especially Loki. I mean, he knows my number, my address. If he really wanted to get in touch with me, he could have. 

I don't think about him. I _don't_. It's easier that way, easier to move on with my life.

I return the little RSVP slip tucked inside an overly elaborate Hallmark card, and stick a $50 in there, too, for good measure.

Sitting in the booth, I try to finish the chapter on P-Charts my Statistics Professor had assigned to torture us poor students. I'm going slowly crazy among zones and phases and significance tests, getting no closer to figuring out what makes it all tick. When someone taps on my window, I jump about three feet, and clutch my chest. The last person I expect to see standing there is Sif. 

She leans up to the little speaker and proceeds to guilt me for not coming to her party. She must've been taking lessons from Heimdall. By the time she's through, I've agreed to go to the party, after all. Also, a trip to the mall to pick out college appropriate clothing- which seems ridiculous considering my fashion sense hovers between 12 year old boy and crazy cat lady.

I might need guilting lessons of my own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry! Regularly scheduled programming will resume eventually, but I wanted to take a detour or two before we get there.


	15. Yikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping and Loki and feelings, oh my.

They say that shopping can be fun, and even an exhilarating adventure.

They lied.

I haven't enjoyed shopping since I was ten, before I became 'top-heavy', as my Dad used to say. It's kinda hard to get excited about trying on clothes when you know the vast majority aren't really going to fit you.

But, I could just be bitter, I suppose.

Sif seems to be having fun, even now, hours and hours after we had started, throwing clothes over racks to inspect the quality and cut before deciding whether it's worth trying on. In theory, I know what she's doing, but no one had ever taught me that mysterious equation she seemed to use instinctively to decide what was deserving of a trip to the dressing room.

I shift the bundle of clothes and bags I'm holding, and attempt to convey an actual interest in the proceedings, because, so far, she's had an eye for that ineffable something that makes clothes fashionable and flattering. I would probably be looking at punny, sci-fi related t-shirts given half a chance, but maybe this is my chance to see a true professional. Shopping is a skill, and she has honed it.

Despite the relentless pursuit of apparent perfection, I can't help but notice that most of the clothes she buys are a size or two larger than what she probably is. This strikes me as peculiar, but I don't remark on it. I'm sure she has her reasons.

When it seems she's scoured everything available for suitability, she plops a mess of clothes on the checkout counter, and sighs happily, like someone who's had a hard, but satisfying day at work. She's about to hand over her debit card, when she gasps dramatically, and tells the sales lady, that she'll be right back, she just wants to look at this dress.

I follow her over, bemused by her antics, until she presses the dress to my body, molding the fabric across my chest to check the fit. "This would be awesome on you. Your size is tricky, though, huh? Mine, too. That's why there's tailors, though. Nan taught me that. Come on, you have to try this on."

The dress isn't _me_. It's got ruffles and is really feminine and breezy. Sif sighs a little when I step out of the changing room, tugging absently at the neckline that feels too low. She flicks my hand away and pulls the fabric back down again. Stepping back, she twirls a finger in the air, and I oblige her with a spin. "I love it," she says, and as I catch a better look at myself in the full-length mirror, I find myself agreeing.

I end up spending too much on the thing, but I can't find it in myself to mind the expenditure. I liked the person I saw in that mirror.

* * *

The day of the party arrives sooner than I'd like, and as I stand in front of my closet, I know that I'll wear that darn dress. I might be dawdling over it, but there's nothing else in there that I think would be suitable.

When there's a knocking at my door, I throw the dress on my bed, and wonder who it could be. I'm not expecting anyone and Joe Jr is wonderfully absent from my life since he and Janice hooked up. I peak through the peephole.

It's Loki.

I flatten myself against the wall, like James Bond, and breath quietly while I panic. The obvious question is, of course, what he's doing here, along with what do I do.

I'm undecided on both points until he knocks again, and follows it up with, "I saw shadows moving under the door, come on, open up."

Fuck.

I'm wary opening the door, wary of seeing him in the flesh again. I'm doing so well. 

He's smiling when I open the door. Smiling like he was just a friend, when he knows damn well I was, yes _was_ , in love with him.

My heart skips a beat. Fucking traitor.

God, he's every bit as gorgeous in a suit as you ever were, and I hate how much it affects me. I hate that I stop and stare, open-mouthed, like a certified moron. I hate that my first impulse is to throw my arms around his neck and never let go. I hate that his eyes are so green.

What I hate the most, what is like a punch to the gut, is how little has changed about the way I feel. Like almost six months haven't passed, like I'm not a crazy person who lied to have a semblance of a family, like he's my savior.

I don't need anyone to save me. I'm doing that all by myself.

"Hi, sorry to just show up like this," Loki says, sheepishly.

My vocal chords are apparently paralyzed because I open my mouth to speak, but nothing actually comes out. I wave him in, gesturing him in the general direction of my couch. My back is to him when I try the talking thing again, and I am positively delighted that it works, "Hey, no big," huge big, "how are you?" 

Wandering in my bedroom before I make a complete and utter ass of myself, I don't even hear how he responds. It doesn't really matter anyway, does it? I've moved on. Yup. Absolutely.

His voice in my living room sends my cat scrambling from under my bed to greet him. Mogs is like an elephant that way - you feed him, and he remembers it forever. I pull off my clothes and slip the dress over my head. The zipper worked just fine in the store, but goddamned if it will slide up now.

I kick my slipper across the room, and it topples my precarious pile of laundry. I stare at the mess a few seconds, ready to shriek at my frustrations, but I very calmly grab my shoes instead, and close my bedroom door gently on my way to the living room.

"Sorry, why are you here, again?" I ask, and if it comes out sounding petulant, well, I figure that's fine.

"Oh. Well, I had to drive home after Sif's graduation - I forgot my change of clothes at my apartment, and she asked if I would pick you up. I tried calling, but you didn't answer. It's, uh, it's really -,"

"Super. A ride. Awesome." I'm going to kill Sif. 

"Are you almost ready? Still have to get home to change," he cocks an eyebrow at the door.

I don't need a ride, and certainly not from him. I teeter on telling him I can get there just fine on my own, but that seems churlish, and the opposite of 'totally cool with this whole situation'. I take a deep breath, and present him my back, "Yeah, I just need some help with the zipper, and I'm pretty much ready."

Loki hesitates a moment or two before I feel a wash of warmth on my skin as he gently tugs the zipper into place. He skims a finger across my shoulder, a touch so brief I think maybe I imagined it. I don't need this, I don't want it, so I act like I don't feel any tension between us, like everything is normal.

Shoes, on. Purse, check. Mogs, fed and watered. Lights and TV, off. "Alright, I'm ready," I say, as I open the door. After locking up behind him, I try, really try not to check him out, the straight line of his back, the breadth of his shoulders under the fitted suit jacket, as I follow him down the steps to the street. I try counting the steps to distract myself, but it doesn't help, and my gaze drifts to him.

As we pull into traffic, it finally occurs to me that he had said he needed to change at home. "You don't live with your parents?" I blurt.

He glances at me from the corner of his eye, "No. I've had my own apartment since college. Why?"

"Oh. No reason. I just assumed... You know what? Never mind."

"I mean, I have dinner with the family a couple of times a week, but, yeah, I live somewhere else."

"It's none of my business." Nope. Don't care. 

"So, Sif says you're going back to school. That's good, right?"

"Yup." I wish he'd stop talking, but he doesn't. Loki keeps up a steady stream of chattering for the next fifteen minutes, even though I rarely answer him beyond the monosyllabic word or two.

He pulls up to a small building, towards the outskirts of town, and turns off the engine. He's quiet for a second or two before looks over at me and asks if I want to come in. Despite my better judgment, I'm beset by curiosity and can't help myself.

I shrug, "Sure."

There's no white or chrome or floor to ceiling windows. No TV, either, at least not that I can see. I wonder, a bit absently if that's admirable or a bit pretentious.

The apartment itself is a bit bigger than my place, but not by much. It's more open, and bright with natural light. There are gorgeous wood floors, and pieces of furniture that he must have made. It's a comfortable, obviously lived-in space, and it suits him. "Make yourself at home, I'll be right out," he tells me as he disappears into what must be his bedroom.

I wander over to a bookshelf and peruse the books. There's mostly biographies and books about architecture and design, with a few science fiction titles, all propped up by smooth blocks of wood in a variety of shapes. There's pictures of landscapes and people dotted around the room, and I abandon the books to look at them. 

I follow the pictures around the room until a sketchbook propped open with a ruler and a pencil catches my eye. I hesitate for a second or two before I settle myself in a deep, comfy chair and reach for it. I've turned the first few pages, impressed by his talent of bringing furniture to life with a few strokes of pencil.

Loki coughs from the door and hurries over to snag the book out of my hands. "That's enough of that," he says, and stashes it in the bookshelf. 

"Sorry, didn't mean to snoop," I tell him, intrigued more than apologetic. 

"Uh, I'm not used to showing that stuff to people. Anyway, are you ready to go?"

I nod and follow him out of his apartment, keeping my eyes up and away from the temptation of the curve of his ass in those jeans. I'm congratulating myself on my success as we step into the hallway. Loki steps in close, and reaches towards me. I completely freeze until he grins and shakes his keys, "Excuse me. Gotta lock up."

My cheeks heat up as I step around him and head outside.

This is going to be a very long party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said it before, but I'll say it again: You guys are the best.


	16. Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then there's the party. And balls. So many balls.

I start sweating about a block from your parents house. I'm not just a little dewy when I hop out of Loki's truck, I've got rivers pouring off of me. It's not super hot yet, but it's hot enough that my current state might be mistaken for something other than nerves. Maybe. Hopefully.

There's cars parked up and down the street, and there's streamers and lights draped on the house and in bushes and trees. A butt load of people are milling around the house, walking in and out, and I am pretty sure I might throw up. Some say hi to Loki, some promise him a beer later, and he smiles back and nods, but keeps guiding us closer and closer to doom. I almost turn around and run, but I stiffen my spine, and follow Loki up the stairs and through the door. 

Hilda is walking around a corner when she spots me. This is it. There's no turning back now. I stick my hand up, give a little wave and smile. For a moment, all I hear is the clack of her cane on the tile floor. "Darcy-dear! How lovely to see you! Oh, psh. Hug," Hilda says, and wraps me in a Werthers scented hug, knocking my out-stretched hand out of the way in a familiar gesture.

I squeeze her back. "It's great to see you, too."

"Come," she says after kissing my cheek, "let's get some wine and greet everyone. Yes, in that order." A wink and she looks at her grandson, her eyes glittering, "Why don't you let Sif know you're here, while Darcy and I look for the good hooch."

Why did that feel like she was trying to get rid of him?

She snags my hand and pulls me along until we're in the basement. There's a rack with dusty bottles of wine and she scans the shelves briefly before selecting one. "You ok with a red?" Hilda asks.

I'm good with anything alcoholic at this point, frankly, so I answer in the affirmative. She pulls a corkscrew out of nowhere, opens the bottle and nods to an old couch in the corner. Sitting down while she finds glasses in a cupboard, I wonder what kind of third degree is coming, or if she's just going to kill me with that corkscrew and hide my body down here somewhere.

Pouring wine with practiced ease, Hilda smiles kindly as she says with a voice like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, "So you and that grandson of mine sure took your sweet time getting here."

Sputtering, I mumble something about traffic and having to stop by his place, and "Nothing happened."

"Shame," she says and takes a sip of her wine.

"Huh?"

"Oh, come now. I'm old - not blind, and I saw the way you two looked at each other before that wedding business, and how he looked at you upstairs. Lovely dress, by the way," her eyes twinkle, and her grin is coquettish, like she can guess all of my secrets and that amuses her greatly. "You and Thor never would have suited, but I can understand why you would have tried. I have gorgeous grandchildren, if I do say so myself. But why didn't you come around after all the hoopla? You must know we don't hold that against you."

It honestly never occurred to me that the Odinsson clan would be so understanding about my abhorrent behavior, that I would still be welcome even after all the lying. I sip the wine, though I'd rather drain the glass, before I answer, "You don't?"

"Oh, Thor grumbled about it for a week or two, but since it got him out of marrying that dreadful woman, he's opted to ignore it for the most part. Except for his carpet, but Loki fessed up to that, so, no harm, no foul, as they say. Besides, you did risk life and limb to save him, for which we are all eternally grateful."

"Huh." Of all the ways I imagined this day going, this easy acceptance was not one of them, "I do feel really bad about everything, though."

"Sweetie, we all do crazy stuff for love. Why, my dear Ox dressed up in drag to sneak into my dorm on Valentine's day many moons ago. Of course, he wasn't exactly successful, and was nearly expelled, but..." her voice trails off, and her eyes go misty before she shakes her head. "Anyway, what are your intentions with my other grandson? I do hope you have some, you know," and she elbows me in my side.

I blush furiously, "I don't, that is, I'm not sure if he's interested in me like that."

She laughs, a full-throated, head reared back, eyes closed, knee-slapping expression of merriment. "He's hooked, Darcy-dear. Been moping around for the last few months, and asking Sif all kinds of questions when she mentions you. I haven't seen him act this way about a girl since high school. Now, let's get our behinds back up to the party, and see if we can't confirm that little theory, huh?"

Fine words, but as soon as we're outside, Hilda holds her cell phone up, tells me that she has to take this. She points out Odin and Frigga across the yard and waves when they look over. I hesitate briefly, but they greet me like an old friend, hugging me and asking about school and work. 

They make me feel welcome, but it's a party, and they have lots of other guests and things to do to keep it going. Odin rubs his hands together and tells me that he has a "giant piece of meat" to pull out of his smoker. Frigga pats my cheek and promises to find me again in a little while.

At best I am awkward in social situations, and one this big makes me want to hit the bottle - hard. I restrain myself, though, wanting to make a good impression. I take small sips, to make this one glass I'm allowing myself last. I could look for Loki, but I don't want to follow him around like a puppy. Despite Hilda's little basement pep talk, I'm not so sure if he's really interested. 

I end up chatting with a neighbor, or rather, she talks _at_ me, while I fake polite interest in PTA politics and try not to think about Loki or refills. When Sif interrupts, I am beyond grateful, because that woman had resisted all my attempts to shake her off. She smiles brightly at Mrs Whoever and pulls me away with an excuse I don't catch because I am too busy trying to keep a pleasant expression on my face.

"Hey, sorry I see someone I gotta say hi to," she tells me, and abandons me at the big table on the back porch where the food's set up.

Realizing I haven't eaten much since waking up, I scoop out a small mound of sweet and sour meatballs, grab some cheese and crackers and find a spot to stand in the shade since there's no chairs that aren't occupied. I shovel the crackers into my mouth, wondering if it would be ok to pop a squat. Probably not a good idea in my dress, no matter how much I want to sit. When the crackers are finished, I attempt to stab a meatball with a toothpick, trying not to spill stuff off of my slowly disintegrating paper plate.

Which is when someone knocks into my back and the meatballs go flying. "Balls," I hiss through clenched teeth, and since there are children around I don't curse. After dodging flying appetizers, I can only hope I haven't ruined my dress. Holding my breath, I look down, and sure enough, there is a meatball stuck in my cleavage.

"Sorry," Loki says, when I turn to face my foe. He eyes the expanse of my chest revealed by the dress, and tries not to grin at my passenger.

I pick up the meatball delicately between two fingers, and fling it into the bushes, leaving a smear of sticky sweet and sour sauce trailing down between my boobs. He hands me a napkin and I dab at the mess, trying really hard not to get the stuff on my miraculously still clean dress. My shoes haven't faired as well, but they're not my favorites, just uncomfortable cheapies from Payless, so they're not my main concern. 

"Need any help with that?" he asks, apparently losing the battle with his smile.

"No, I think I got this, thanks," dab-dab-dab.

He snags my plate anyway, which makes the cleanup marginally easier, and when I glance up again, I see him picking up meatballs from the grass and walking over to the garbage can to dump the mess. He's stopped by the PTA lady, and I can't help but be delighted by the look of sheer panic that crosses his face.

I feel sticky and I know I have sauce working its way down into my bra, so I wander into the house to use the bathroom. After wiping up with wads of wet toilet paper, and confirming that my dress escaped unscathed, I head back outside. I end up eating smoked brisket sandwiches with Heimdall at a picnic table, and enjoy his easy company for a while.

The party winds down after a few hours, with people leaving and taking piles of leftovers on their way out of the door. Pretty soon there's too few people to be lost in a crowd and you wander over. I'd been pretty happy that I'd avoided you so successfully, but all good things come to an end, I suppose.

"Nice to see you," you say, with an impish smile.

I smile back, and remark the same, trying valiantly to just be cool. Even though I'm not crushing on you any more, you're still a very good looking man, and I feel a bit flustered.

"Save any strangers from certain death lately?"

I laugh, "No, no one's been attacked by marauding teenagers lately, thank god. How's, uhm, you know, things?" I ask lamely.

"Good, you know, business is booming. There's always money to be made, people to sue."

I'm not quite sure this isn't all a fantastical dream, but somehow we end up chatting amicably about the goings on in our lives. Your cat drama, my school. Your vacation to the Caribbean, and my trip to the Aquarium. You're a nice enough guy, but you don't seem to get my jokes, and you keep talking to my chest. 

We're interrupted by Sif, who's holding a basketball and wearing a predatory smile. "It's time, old man. Skirts vs. Shirts. Come on, Darcy, I hope you can play basketball."

I shudder, and shake my head, "No. Not even a little. I've got no ball skills."

"That's ok. We're not going to be playing with a full compliment of those anyway," she says with a laugh. "Also, I can totally beat this one with a hand tied behind my back, so I just need you to distract Loki." She follows up that statement with a pointed look at my chest, and I blush, while she giggles maniacally. 

"Fine, but if we lose, don't say I didn't warn you."

We converge in the driveway and while Sif and I kick off our heels and pull up our hair, you and Loki commence with the trash talking. It's pretty weak-sauce stuff, to be honest, mostly jabs about my height, or lack thereof, and flying boobs.

Sif gives them the double middle fingers before she tosses the ball straight up in the air, leaps gracefully and taps the ball in my direction. I panic and flail at it, and you snake it easily away. You bounce it a few times, holding Sif at bay with a hand and a smirk. You chuck the ball at the hoop hung over the garage door, and miss. 

Your sister cackles gleefully and shoves me into Loki while she goes after the ball. The next few minutes devolve into more trash talking and shoving matches, as it becomes clear that Sif is kicking ass, and that her nefarious plan to distract her brother is apparently working. When there's only a point left before our victory (I can't believe that I'm on a winning team), you bounce into me hard enough that I go flying. 

Gameplay stops. You roll your eyes, and say sorry, but it's clear that you don't mean it. Loki rushes over, crouches next to me and examines the scrape on my knee with gentle fingers. "It's fine," I tell him, and lever myself back to my feet. "Let's finish this," I direct this to Sif, who is scolding you like a pro. I don't even feel the need to call you an asshole since she's doing so well on her own.

She glares at you, and does a perfect overhand toss straight into the basket, "That's why I'm the one with a basketball scholarship, and you're down to a single ball, loser."

"Low blow, Sif!" Loki exclaims, "You shouldn't make fun of the state of a man's testicles. Or testicle, as it were."

"Wait. How'd you two know about that?" you ask. 

Sif just taps the side of her nose, and gives an angelic smile. 

Hilda bangs her cane on the porch, drawing our attention. "That's enough horse play, children," she calls. "Loki, be a dear and show Darcy where the band-aids and stuff are, will you?"

As I walk inside I hear you and Sif arguing back and forth. I think she nails it when she tells you that you're just sore you lost to a couple of girls. 

And now, as your voice fades into the background, I am happy that you never noticed me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, I have started the last few chapters with every intention of having these two make out. I'm trying so hard to accomplish this, and it just was not happening. Good news is, next chapter? Pretty sure it's on like Donkey Kong.  
> Playlist companion for this work can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLHMSRjJiAWwnEEO0MZkUVFhbTUoa82_wx) if you're interested.
> 
> Excuse me, I'm off to look at my Tommy Snake-hips gif for an hour. It's for inspiration purposes. Swear! ;)


	17. And Then...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note rating change.  
> Also tags.  
> I know it seemed like it never could or would actually happen, but it's there for a reason. So...
> 
> If descriptions of these two  
> doing the proverbial do  
> makes you uncomfortable,  
> this chapter is probably not for you.  
> :)

Despite the choices I made over the holidays, I'm not an idiot. 

I have a fair idea how medicine cabinets work, and I am not incapable of squirting a little alcohol on one of my extremities, but I'll admit that I rather enjoy Loki on his knees between my legs. I am only human, after all.

His dark head is bent as he takes his sweet time swiping the alcohol soaked gauze pad over the scrape on my leg. It stings, but his breath is cool, soothing, when he blows on my very minor injury. His hand is warm around my ankle, and Christ Almighty, I could just lean forward and do unspeakable things to him. But we're in a bathroom, first of all - also, I'm sitting on a toilet, and we're in his parents house, to boot. _Down girl._

He smears antibiotic ointment oh-so gently on the scrape, carefully applying the band-aid after, and I take several deep breaths as quietly as I can to try to get the pounding of my heart under control. It doesn't work. Loki looks up at me, and I might as well have a jackhammer in my chest.

"There," Loki says, glancing back down to admire his handiwork, and I'm not sure if I imagine the husky quality to his voice. "You're all set." He stands, and it's like his body unfurls and it's as if he's suddenly eighteen feet of gorgeous man hovering over me. He sticks out his hand and helps me up, hesitating at the door briefly before opening it to let us out.

"You want a ride home?" he asks, quietly. There's a whole world of questions in five words, and the smart thing to do is definitely to answer NO. Nope. Cabs are good. Totally capable of getting my ass home on my own.

"Yeah," I say, just as softly.

There's coffee and cake to be had before an escape can be made, but I don't taste any of it. I try not to notice the smug looks that cross Hilda and Sif's faces when Loki and I decline seconds. 

The drive to my apartment is almost completely silent. The radio is on, but I barely notice it. This would be awkward, except I am so wound up, I simply don't have the capacity for that. The truck is small, and every time Loki moves, shifts, I want the end result to be that he brushes against me. When he does, it's like touching a live wire.

He must _know_. He has to. 

Loki still seems surprised when I invite him up.

Which makes me wonder if I'm imagining the tension between us. 

He follows me up the stairs, and I fumble with the keys when we finally get to my door. His hand is hot on mine as he helps me guide the key home. I feel like every cell in my body is attuned to him, like he's a magnet and I am just iron shavings flitting towards him in a middle school science experiment.

Loki's body presses against mine, a brief moment where length of him heats up my back. Usually, I would be a little grossed out by the assumption that I want that sort of contact, but in this case, it kinda nullifies the question of whether or not he wants me in return. He pulls away, and when I glance back at him, his cheeks are stained pink under the harsh fluorescent light of the stairwell.

It's a powerful, heady feeling, the knowledge that we are both finally, _finally_ , on the same page. The door opens easily even though my hands are shaking and I can hear the pounding of my pulse in my ears as we step inside.

My apartment is dark, familiar, smells like home, and it's like the dam I put up against all the thoughts that I have of him breaks the second we stepped across the threshold.

This is real, and it's ok to want him because, apparently, he wants me back, too. I lock the door behind us, gathering what courage I can muster before flicking on the light and facing him. This might be easier in the dark, but I want to know, _have_ to know, it's really him. My hands find purchase on his shoulders and I pull him down to my height. I hesitate, but it's just for a second, before pressing my lips to his. 

Suddenly, I understand what people mean when they talk about time standing still. His lips are soft under mine, and I can't believe it took this long. He tastes like coffee and cake, and I can't get enough, can't get close enough. 

There are at least a dozen things I want to investigate about him -  chief among them is the feel of his skin, the sounds he'll make, if his hands are smooth or callused. I've long been fascinated by his hair, for instance. I'm giddy that I'm getting the opportunity to sate my curiosity. His hair is like silk under my fingers when I finally pull his hair-tie free.

I find myself pressed against the door, his lips still on mine, his hands around my waist as he lifts me up. My feet dangle in the air momentarily before it occurs to me that I would be much better off wrapping them around him.

Loki groans into my mouth as he grinds against me. There's too many clothes between us; his jeans chafe my thighs and I feel like my bra is constricting my entire torso which makes breathing normally almost impossible. 

I'd imagined this, being with him, a thousand times. I didn't want to, but it's been on my mind, in my head, even when I was determined to get over him. This is better, a million times better, though our teeth clash and the door knob is pressing into my leg uncomfortably. I'd never imagined that breathy, throaty sigh, or the way his muscles in his shoulders bunch up as we try to press closer against each other.

I don't know why his casual strength is such a shock, when he is clearly a very active man. The way he holds me, hands moving from my waist to my ass, to position me better against the hard ridge in his jeans, makes me feel like I've pictured myself all wrong all these years, that I'm a bit more delicate and dainty than I ever considered.

Beds are seriously overrated, I know this because we aren't going to get to one, at least not this time. I want him now. _Right now_. It almost pains me, but I loosen my legs from around him, shove his chest and slide to my feet. His hair is a wreck, tangled and wild, as he looks at me with wide green eyes.

There's a possibility that I might be in over my head. A slight chance that this might _mean_ something. That's actually pretty fucking terrifying.

My thoughts are interrupted by the way his hands look when they find the waistband of his jeans and how long his fingers are when he starts to fiddle with the button and zipper. Is it bad that I am totally objectifying him? Reducing him to bits and pieces that are frankly so sexy they practically slay me? Guilty, penitent, I look up at that instant those long fingers finally find purchase and expose that which I am most curious about.

God, why is he smiling, like he knows exactly what I am thinking?

I feel heat in my cheeks, but I suck it up. I look him in the eye, reach under the fussy skirt of my dress and tug my panties down. They pool around my ankles and I lift my left foot up to step out of them. It's been so long since I've done anything like this, but it's not like a person forgets the basic mechanics. "Condom?"

He pulls a little packet out of his back pocket, and it occurs to me that we're going to do this. For real. Pretty much fully dressed, against the door. Petty concerns, it turns out, because he looms over me and kisses away my ability to think much at all. I hear the crinkle of the wrapper and feel him shift as he sheathes himself.

Loki wraps a hand around the back of my neck, and when anyone else had done that I'd hated it. Now, as he tilts my head a bit, not only don't I mind it, I like the anchor point. His other hand is smoothing down my front, lifting the hem of my dress as he strokes up the inside of my thigh. The softness of his touch isn't nearly enough, but I still whimper when he finally skates a finger over my labia. 

I feel the smile on his lips against mine, before he nips my bottom lip and I make a noise I hope sounds like please. I don't want to wait anymore, so I press up against him and wrap a leg around him. He doesn't exactly take the hint, and I can't decide if what he does is enough. He pushes one of those long fingers inside me, and uses his thumb to brush gently against my clit.

If he keeps that up, I'll come, and I don't want to right then. I know what I want, and for once I'm just going to go for it. I shift my lips out of range of his mouth, "Fuck me now."

"But I -," he starts to say. Interrupting him, because I am quite frankly moving beyond desperate, "Now."

His mouth finds my throat, and he gives it a lick and a nibble, "So impatient," Loki murmurs. I can only nod, so very pleased when he lets go of my head to hook his arm under the leg I've draped around his. His other hand grips my waist again, and I'm ready this time when he lifts me.

Or maybe I'm not precisely ready for him. Sure, I'm almost embarrassingly wet, but it's been years since I've had sex with someone, and the initial stretch of his invasion is a burn that borders on pain. I hiss, and feel my nails catching the fabric of his shirt as I try not to claw his back. Loki makes a sound like a groan as he retreats slowly, his face nestled in the crook of my neck, so I can feel every hot exhalation he makes.

The not-quite pain fades, but the burn doesn't. If anything, it intensifies. There's a rattle as the speed of his thrusts increases. My door. I should probably care about that, the racket we're making. I really don't, though, especially since Loki is quietly murmuring my name into my skin. He shifts me in his grip, freeing a hand, which he insinuates between us. The shock of his fingers skimming across my clit makes me yelp a little and clench tightly around him.

Something about the way he thrusts so deeply on the next stroke sets off my orgasm before I have a chance to brace myself. All I can do is fist my hands in his shirt, close my eyes and call out as the feeling of bliss rolls through me.

God, it feels so good to be able to do this with someone else. And I still want more. Maybe in a slightly more comfortable locale, though. I can't help but smile, "Wanna go again?"

Loki gives me a wolfish grin before he sets me down, carefully removing the condom after. "Definitely, but what do you say to a bed this time?"

I nod in agreement, and I can't stop smiling at him, can't wait to pull all of his clothes off and find out what spots will make him beg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your thoughts and opinions are appreciated.


	18. ...It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the previous chapter directly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday, but it needed a bit more work. Which means that the smut warning is still officially in effect.

I never make my bed unless I'm putting fresh sheets on it. Just by looking at the size of my collapsed heap of laundry, it's easy to tell that it has obviously been a while since that has happened. I'm momentarily embarrassed by the state of my bedroom, but when I glance at Loki, it's clear that he either doesn't notice or maybe he doesn't care. He's looking at me, and I have never felt a gaze so heavy. 

My knees go slightly weak, and the bed is right there, but I walk over to him instead. After brushing his hair back from his face, I hook my fingers under the hem of his cotton rugby shirt, "May I?"

Oddly solemn, he nods, and obliges me further by bending over when I have a small issue with his height. I toss the shirt somewhere over my shoulder, and am frankly taken aback by what I have revealed. My hands reach out of their own volition, gingerly stroking across the sparse black hair on his very well developed chest.

Loki sweeps my hair over my shoulder, reaches back around me, and repeats my question back to me in a voice so quiet it's almost a whisper, directly into my ear. It makes me shiver and my nipples tighten. I croak a God, yes, when it finally occurs to me what he meant. He slowly, carefully slid the zipper down, letting the tips of his fingers brush tantalizingly against my spine when he slides his hands back up to my shoulders. Skimming the straps off, the dress floats and flutters to the floor.

He stands back, and I fight the urge to cover myself as he examines me, his eyes dropping before returning slowly back up to my face. I'm still wearing a drooping strapless bra, and my hands aren't quite steady as I reach back to unclasp it. He keeps staring straight into my eyes, even after the bra joins the dress on the floor. I'm losing my battle to try to be cool, since I am completely naked while he doesn't even shift so much as a muscle. Just stands there in his half-fastened jeans. Staring. It's as unnerving as it is arousing.

Licking my lips seems to do the trick, though, and he literally sweeps me off my feet and practically tosses me onto my messy bed. I shove the wadded up sheets and blanket off, and do some watching of my own as he kicks his jeans off. Bending over, he seems to struggle a little with his socks, before digging in his back pocket. His cheeks are flushed when he stands again and drops two more condoms on my nightstand.

A slow smile crosses Loki's face when he sees me ogling him. He's not heavily muscled, not like a body builder, he's lanky, lean and long. Everything about him appears to be long. He caresses my face after sliding into bed and crawling on top of me. "You're incredibly beautiful," he says before kissing me again. I can't help but responding, "So are you," when we finally come up for breath again.

He chuckles a little before rolling us over, swapping our positions and urging me with his hands to sit up as I straddle him more firmly. His eyes light up as he glances at my chest from his place under me. "You have no idea how much I've wanted to be in this position, to get to look at you like this," he cups reverent hands on my breasts. "To watch your face when I touch you."

My eyes slip closed and my head falls back as he keeps brushing the palms of his hands across my chest. When he plucks my nipples with those long fingers of his, I can't help the way my body jerks in response. I feel a rumble in his chest, and then his hands are gone, replaced by the wet, sucking heat of his mouth. I look down, and the sight of his dark head lifted to take more of me in, is a pleasure all its own.

I'm almost lost, hips mindlessly shifting, trying to rub against the hard planes of his stomach, to find enough friction to ease the ache. Almost, but not quite. Leaning over, towards the nightstand, pops my nipple out of his mouth, and basically smothers him beneath my bosom, but I manage to grab one of the condoms. 

Scooting down his body, skimming my core over his cock, I nearly forget myself. It would be so easy, so natural to just tilt my hips and slide him home. His desperate moans and twitching brings me back to myself. Settling on his thighs - nicely muscular, straining thighs - I feel like I have the whole world laid out in front of me. The best parts of it, anyway. 

Loki puts his hands under his head, looking down the considerable length of his body at me. Fumbling a little, trying to get the stupid condom wrapper open. Frustrated, I end up using my teeth to tear it open, and if the predatory grin he gives is any indication, he really liked that.

Smoothing the condom down his cock, I make myself a promise to marvel and linger and explore it at greater length later, when I am less desperate to have him inside me again. Scraping my body across his as I position myself, feeling the way he shudders and trembles under me, is the most wonderful sensation ever.

Except then it isn't even close anymore, it's a distant second to the way he fills me, the way he throws back his head as his hands reach for my hips. He's probably trying to be helpful, as he strains to direct the way I rock on top of him, but I'm pretty sure I got this. Removing his hands, I interlock our fingers and press our joined hands into the pillows around his head. 

It's more intimate than I had reckoned on, since it puts my face directly in front of his. I could bury my face in the crook of his neck, but I like watching the way his eyes change as we move together. The combination of that and the sensation of our limbs tangling together mounts quickly, and I don't know why. Why it's so easy with him, how it's possible that this man can turn me inside out with so little effort.

It doesn't seem to matter that we've barely been at this a few minutes at most - my thighs haven't even started to burn with effort. I'm shaking on top of him, panting, and he's pushing against my grip, his hips lifting frantically. The moment it becomes too much for me seems to stretch off into infinity, a brightness streaking through me. Under me, as I slowly collapse on top of him, it registers distantly that his body bows up as he groans helplessly.

That's nice.

My fingers loosen, mostly because all the strength has drained from my body, and he pulls his hands from mine to brush my hair back and out of our faces. I didn't even realize how annoying it had been till it was gone. Loki kisses my forehead, and I can feel how sticky hot I am, how close and humid the air in the bedroom feels.

"Sorry," Loki mumbles, and gently rolls me off of him.

However much I wish I had enough energy to get up and open the window, it's just not going to happen. God, I'm thirsty. 

"I'll get us some water," he says, because I guess I must've said that last part out loud. He slowly pushes himself up and out of bed, and holy fuck, he's really just beautiful to look at, the way the light and shadows play across his shifting muscles renders me practically insenate and drooling. The spent condom dangles from his fingers, as he's silhouetted in the doorway, and I blush.

My tongue feels tacky and thick in my mouth, but I should probably say something, anything, "Thanks." 

He pads out of view and I can't take it anymore. I'm freaking ecstatic. I starfish across my bed, stretching all my muscles in sheer joy. I close my eyes, enjoying the sound of water running in the kitchen and the faint rumble of his voice as he apparently greets my cat. I'm just going to lay here for a few more seconds, just a few...

* * *

It's just after dawn when I wake up again. The clanging of the newspaper boxes down the street being refilled by inconsiderate newspaper delivery people doesn't usually bother me, but there's a heavy weight across my ribs and an unfamiliar sort of dull, throbbing soreness in my body. "Mogs, come on, dude, get off," I say when he doesn't move even after I shimmy my shoulders.

I'm pulled into Loki's chest, "And a good morning to you, too," he says, nuzzling the back of my neck, and I remember why I feel so stiff in places. I roll over, and, yup, that's him. Loki with stubble on his face, and hooded, sleepy eyes, and a half smile that would have melted my panties right off, had I actually been wearing any.

Instead, my entire body flushes with heat, "Good morning." There's something wrong with my face. I can't stop smiling.

His expression turns mischievous, and it's a look he was born to wear, all impish possibility and sharp looking teeth. "You know," he says, "we still have a condom left. It would be a shame to waste it, don't you think?" The gravel in his voice affects me just as much as the finger he drags across my clavicle.

Oh god, _words_ , Darcy, you know a few, try using them, "Couldn't agree more. Waste not, want not, or whatever." 

"Glad we're in agreement," and, pathetic as it may seem, he could just keep talking to me in that voice and that would probably do it for me all on its own. "But, first, and I hope you don't mind, I have something else I'd like to do," he says and disappears under the sheet.

After he nudges me to lay flat on my back and spreads my legs, he finally swirls the sheet off and chucks it in a corner. Loki looks at me like a feast that has been revealed. "Pillow," he says, absently holding out a hand. I pat the space next to my head and tug one free from the pile. After I give it over, he shifts me until the pillow is settled snugly under my butt, lifting me and spreading me open. He looks rather pleased by the result of his handiwork.

Loki takes his time settling himself between my thighs, brushing against me plenty, just not where I want him to. His breath on me those few seconds before he licks me is sheer torture. I don't even care that my windows are open when I start moaning his name.

* * *

The ice cold water Loki very kindly had brought me was possibly the best thing I have ever had to drink, but it didn't help my ravenous hunger.

Loki had just come back from the kitchen, and he'd fallen face first into bed after handing me the glass. He sprawls out now, and I end up with an arm carelessly thrown over my stomach, and a hand cupping one of my boobs when I lay back down. He mumbles something that I don't understand, since it's almost entirely muffled by the mattress. I stroke his sweaty back, because I can, "What?"

He twists his head, and tries, without much success, to blow his hair out of his face. He makes a disgruntled sound, and I take pity on him and help him out. His hair is tangled and inky with damp, and I sort of want to get my brush and smooth all the knots out. Maybe later, I think, because he's assessing me out of one eye, half of his face smooshed into the mattress, and despite that, he looks so happy I just want to revel a little.

"Hungry," he says out of the corner of his mouth, "need fuel badly."

I agree completely, but, "All I've got is coffee and milk, and ramen."

"I noticed," he groans, "does this mean we have to actually get up?" He sounds adorably horrified by this conclusion.

"Yeah, but we can always come back after," I say, running my hand back down his spine, and because it just so happened to be right there, I give his ass a good squeeze. He pushes himself up, twisting around to fully look at me. 

I could get lost in those eyes.

His expression turns serious, "I'd really like that."


	19. Possibly Brilliant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll keep you posted if anything else smutty happens, but for now, we're relatively SFW again.

This is by far the stupidest idea I have ever been coerced into entertaining. Upon closer reflection, maybe not. Either way, it's never going to work, and Jane might end up hating me.

She's slumped in my couch like I've just given her a death sentence. "Come on, Darcy, you can't be serious. Coma Guy?" she whines.

I wince, because it's a fair point, "Please, it's like going to multiple concerts, but with better food and a better selection of alcohol, you know, sometimes. And you don't have to pay for your ticket. It's a few hours max, and then you're home free. Besides, you owe me for that date with Count Nosehair."

Jane huffs, arms crossed over her chest, "He wasn't that bad."

I nod decisively, "No, he was worse. Please? Pretty please?" I'm not too proud to beg, because if she doesn't come, I have a feeling the evening could be spectacularly awkward. Fucking Loki, springing this on me at the last minute.

"Fine," she throws up her hands, "but I'm not changing!" she declares.

"Cool, and you look fine. You'll fit right in. Music festival, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," she ruffles Mogwaii's fur, her frown growing deeper when there's a knock at my door. 

"Just do me a favor and pretend to be moderately interested in possibly having a good time?" I give her the sad puppy dog face, but she's remarkably immune to it. Or maybe not.

Her lips quirk into a semblance of a smile, "All I can guarantee is a passing desire to have a few beers while watching a bunch of sweaty people attempt to play instruments. I'll collect on that favor at my leisure, by the way," she winks at me, and grabs her ID and debit card out of her purse and shoves them into her bra. There's another knock at the door. "Aren't you gonna get that? It's probably your _boyfriend._ The one that's here _all the time_."

I hiss, "I told you, he's not my _boyfriend_ , we're just hanging out," at this, she snorts derisively, "Now shut up and smile." I open the door, a rictus of a grin firmly in place, and let two giants into my teeny, tiny apartment. 

Loki kisses my cheek quickly, and murmurs how nice my tits look in my top quietly into my ear. Out of the corner of my eye I see Jane roll her eyes as I blush.

"Sorry. Heh," I try to focus, "Let me introduce everyone. Jane, this is Loki and Thor."

She raises her hand in greeting, "Yeah, we met, uhm, you know..." her voice trails off, as if it apparently occurs to her that she's about to mention the Marriage That Thankfully Wasn't. She rallies admirably, and smiles a bit crookedly, "I'm Jane."

* * *

Jane and I are in line for the porta potties. I've waited a little too long, trying to avoid or postpone the inevitable, and now I'm trying not to do the pee-pee dance out in the open.

"Jane - quick, say something weird or funny to distract me."

"Huh? Why?"

"Because I might piss myself if you don't."

Jane looks at me like I've lost my damn mind for a second, before she breaks out into an evil grin, "So if Loki isn't your boyfriend, what is he exactly?"

"Not what I meant, Jane! Oh, look. It's my turn, yay, what luck!" I elbow the woman, who for the last few minutes, has been staring into the finally vacated porta potty like she's seeing the bowels of hell, out of my way, and prepare to step inside. Desperation propels me where common sense would have had me running in the opposite direction, screaming. _Oh Jesus. My eyes, my eyes! My poor nose!_

* * *

I'm throwing my shoes in the trash chute on the third floor. They've seen too much tonight, and they are no longer welcome in my apartment. "You were good, dependable shoes, and I am sorry it had to end this way," I call down the chute after them. Loki takes my hand and lets me lead the way up the stairs to my apartment.

Since I don't have to worry about taking off my shoes after opening the door, I make a beeline straight for the couch. I let Loki lock up while I plop into my comfy spot with abandon, because my legs and feet are killing me after all the walking and dancing. "Hey, would you be awesome and grab a beer out of the fridge? Please, I don't wanna move, just got comfortable," I cajole as sweetly and sincerely as I can, which admittedly isn't saying much, as I'm barely capable of either.

"Sure," is the answer, and I hear the clatter of his shoes coming off, and his surprisingly light step as he walks into my kitchen. This might actually be easier if he wasn't in the same room. 

"So, uhm, you know," I don't know if I can force myself to speak the words to express what I've started to become more and more curious about, but here goes nothing, I suppose, "What would you say we're doing?"

Loki carries two beers and a bag of Salt and Vinegar potato chips when he comes back into the living room. He's wearing a curious expression, "Hanging out, I guess. Having fun, getting to know each other, and-," he pauses, seemingly considering his next words carefully, "Enjoying it immensely in the process, I hope. For you, anyway, because I am." 

He twists off the top of one of the beers and hands it over. "Why?" he asks, and it's a perfectly fair question, but he grabs one of my feet and just starts rubbing it. I love it when he does that, but it throws me off some, too. 

"Well, I guess I wanted to know what you think about," and now we come to the crux of the matter, "me. Uhm, specifically in relation to living with me," I pick at the label on the bottle, and try to look up. "Because, I thought since you're here all the time anyway, maybe you might be amenable to moving in. With me. But not here, uhm, if you want," I hate how tentative that sounded, how unsure I feel.

His fingers don't stop digging into the arch of my foot, rubbing the ache away slowly and relentlessly. He's quiet enough for such a long time I almost think he might be asleep, except he never stops his torturous message. I try not to squirm, figuratively and literally.

I look up, and he's staring at me like I am some fascinating creature again. "What?" I exclaim, impatient for him to just get whatever he's contemplating out already.

That slow smile he likes to drive me crazy with spreads across his face like he knows exactly what does to me, "Ok, you're kind of right, I am here a lot."

"Yeah, to tune of every single day last week," I grumble under my breath.

"True," he says, grinning broadly, "I like your company. And your..." he looks pointedly at my chest. 

"... And?"

"Hmm?" He glances back up to look at my face, with an innocent expression.

"So?" I sigh, suddenly exhausted by beating around the bush. "Do you want to move in with me?"

"Well, I don't know. Why?"

"What?"

"Why do you want me to move in with you?" Loki says it slowly, carefully enunciating each word. God, at times, he can be extremely vexing. Which, by the way, is a word I looked up specifically to define how I often feel around him. _Vexed_. But, then again, he's switched to rubbing my other foot, and that's nice.

I gather up my tattered courage, "I like having you here. I like seeing you in the morning before we go to work. There's food in my kitchen now where the main ingredient isn't a preservative. Mogs doesn't hate you or try to poop in your shoes. You don't leave the toilet seat up. I don't like it when you don't come over, and I was hoping that you didn't like that, too."

I am an idiot. 

"So, it's got nothing to do with what happened last night?" He asks, quietly.

I curl in on myself like a shrimp in a hot pan. I try yanking my foot out of his hands, but he holds annoyingly fast, "We agreed never to speak about that!"

"No, you said, in order, 'Whoa, sorry, never mind, shut up, forget you heard that'. I didn't say anything. You wouldn't let me."

I can feel him looking at me, even if I can't force myself to look back. Why is his voice so soft? Wussy. 

"Darcy, it's not like you did something wrong. You just -,"

"Alright, alright. We both know what was said. But as it doesn't relate to this matter, I would prefer we stick to the issue at hand. Look, Janice in 6c is moving in with Joe Jr, so that means a 2 bedroom will be opening up soon, and I dunno. I thought it was perfect, but if it's weird or too soon, or whatever, I get it. Just pretend I didn't say anything."

"I already sort of knew, Darce. You kinda let that cat out of the bag once before."

Oh, sure, remind me about the most mortifying event in my life. _Douchebag_. I resume yanking my leg, "Let go. Gotta pee, come on." Not the smoothest escape ever, but I can extend it into a shower, and maybe he'll be gone or asleep by the time I am done.

I throw my concert outfit in the hamper, and step into my shower. I'd never noticed that my showerhead had been mounted super low, never had a reason to. I was surprised when Loki had replaced it with a fancy, adjustable one that actually allowed him to stand up straight three weeks ago. But I wasn't about to complain. I set the dual heads on the message setting and enjoy the sensation of hot water beating into my skull and skin.

"D'ya think we ought to finish our conversation?"

The sudden sound of his voice in the bathroom with me, so unexpectedly, makes me jump and I almost slip. "Shit! A little warning next time would be appreciated. And I was giving you time to think. _Privately_."

Loki doesn't take the hint. He hardly ever takes a hint. Instead, he sticks his head around the curtain, "And I thought about it-," I close my eyes, swiping a hand over my face, because I can't look at him, not now, not when, "And it's a good idea. I mean, probably crazy. But good... Darcy?"

I almost knock us both over jumping into his arms. "Hmm," he hums, as his hands slide across my body, "You're all soapy and wet. And now you've made me all soapy and wet, too." I roll my eyes as he tsks dramatically, and starts pulling off his clothes. "I guess I'll just have to join you to clean up. Besides," he smirks, "it's the ecologically friendly thing to do."

* * *

"We're buying a new mattress," Loki says suddenly, into the darkness of my bedroom. "You hate mine, and yours is like sleeping on rocks. Lumpy rocks."

I'm almost asleep, and I'm barely capable of thought, much less a reasonable conversation about mattresses, "Sure, sure."

"Do you mind if we put my couch in the living room? Yours is kind of small." He's whispering now, and I can barely hear him over the drone of the fan in the corner. "Tiny, miniscule, really. What do you think?"

Oh my god. "Fine. Whatever. Going to sleep now. Shush."

He waits a couple of minutes, "Darcy?"

I'm tempted to grab a pillow and fold it around one of our faces, but in the end I just grumble, because that's all I can manage. He settles me a little closer, and I let our legs tangle together under the sheets. "I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the continued support!


	20. Happy Halloween, or Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few minor changes occur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, you guys...

Loki is into Halloween. Like _really_ into it. Until two weeks ago I had no idea. He's got, like, boxes of decorations and costumes, real ones that didn't come out of a plastic bag labeled one size fits all. It's freaking me out a little how excited he apparently is about what is really just an opportunity to dress up, eat candy from strangers and mutilate pumpkins.

At first I thought he was joking, but no, he was serious about throwing a party. Which, now, on the Wednesday before Halloween, seems like a less good idea than it seemed when he brought it up originally.

Our combined crap is finally put away in a manner that drives neither of us crazy. The new mattress has been delivered and christened vigorously. Mogwaii has stopped peeing in my laundry, so he's finally forgiven me for the move, and I don't want to disturb the peaceful status quo.

Loki is in the second bedroom, where he usually sketches, alone. I thought he was looking at porn or something at first, but then I noticed he always leaves his laptop in the living room when he disappears. I try to respect the boundary, because it gives me time to tend to my own embarrassing web habits.

That said, right now, I can hear him on the phone in there, and something is definitely up. He's obviously not sketching anymore, so I should be golden as far as interruptions are concerned.

I'm about to get up, to investigate, when he comes into the living room with a grin on his face. We've only been together for a little over four months, living together for three weeks. The point is - I know that face already. He's about to try to talk me into something. "Ok, I want you to keep an open mind here. Don't get pissed, just listen and let me finish."

"You didn't rent that karaoke machine, did you? Told you it's overkill."

He shakes his head and puts a finger over my lips. Hmm. Hardly a promising start to a conversation. I try not to think he's about to show me that thing that will inevitably make us break up. There's always a thing. I make the wave of get-on-with-it, trying not to assume the worst. He doesn't deserve that.

"Remember the other day you were talking about that place with the Pumpkin Festival?"

Loki waits until I nod before he continues, "Well, I kinda talked to Jane, got you a few more days off, and we're going there. Tomorrow," he smiles hugely. 

I'm flabbergasted. Taken aback. Rendered speechless. For a few seconds anyway, and even then, all that comes out of my mouth is a "What?"

"Come on, let's plan the route. I've got the atlas and smaller maps laid out in the other room."

Sometimes he does stuff that is ridiculously, stupidly invasive and kind of crosses a line, but then he'll follow it up with something so sweet it makes me feel a wave of love swell up, and I can't even get mad. _Ass_.

* * *

Because the trip was a spur of the moment type of thing, and it's a pretty popular event, there's no rooms to be had. It's getting cold, and we're parked behind a field, next to a river out of view of the road. This, after a morning of driving, and a day of walking around the first of the open exhibits. We'd gotten permission to park here for two nights by a little old couple who'd overheard our predicament in the diner where we'd had dinner.

Loki hops out of the truck, telling me to sit tight and that he's got this. I'm skeptical at this point, but there doesn't seem to be anything to lose. Except maybe a toe or two. There's a bunch of banging and swearing going on back there, but I let him do his thing without interfering. 

Finally, after what feels like hours, he calls for me to join him outside. There's a nest of blankets heaped on top of his air mattress, which is wedged into the bed of the truck and our bags are sitting in the dirt. "You're crazy. No. Not going to happen. I'm not sleeping out in the open. What if it rains?"

Loki looks at the bright, cloud free night sky, and then back at me, "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"In Chicago. I left it right by the radiator or maybe next to the toilet. Pretty sure."

He steps behind me, and wraps his arms around my front. "It's too late to drive home, and we won't freeze to death with this setup. It's going to be just fine, you'll see." That sort of hubris just seems like begging the universe to fuck with us somehow. But it's been a long day, and even though it's only, like, 10, I am beat. 

 _Fine_.

I climb up on the truck bed/real bed, since alternatives are slim. I try to keep an open mind, only pout a little, and let my feet dangle over the lip of the open gate. "Help?" I kick out my feet and give him the big, begging eyes.

Loki squints at me, but still strips my sturdy walking boots off for me. Then he tosses the bags in the cab, climbs in after me, and takes his boots off, too. We burrow under the covers, but for the time being, it's still too cold to undress even a little. The dry plants in the field rustle and I think I hear something scurry through the rows. 

"If we get eaten by wildlife, or taken captive by toothless hillbillies, I'm going to be so pissed. Fair warning. First twang of a banjo, and we're _so_ out of here."

Loki laughs, and pulls me onto his chest. "Let me try to distract you from those irrational fears."

I've never had sex outside before.

* * *

The sweat on my face has already started to cool, so I tug and tuck the pile of blankets till we're pretty well swaddled. I'm not as tired, not anymore, and, looking up, I'm pretty sure that I have never seen so many stars. I pull out my phone and start up the night sky identifying app I'd downloaded, but never had an opportunity to use.

Loki smiles and tells me that I can put it away. His voice is warm as he talks about the constellations he remembers learning about at camp when he was little. I've never heard him talk much about his childhood, though it seems like I've talked about mine plenty. I snuggle close, and laugh at the images he conjures of a mini-Thor getting lost in the woods and illicit poker games played in the cabins after dark.

"You know, when I was little, people used to ask to me why I couldn't be more like my brother. I've always known I was adopted, but it didn't matter until Thor... started to become _Thor - big man on campus_. It happened, or started to, anyway, this one summer I had to go to summer school, and he was off to become a camp counselor for the first time."

Loki strokes warm fingers down my arm, and takes my hand. _Adopted_? Am I supposed to say something about that, interrupting his story, or - I give his hand a squeeze, silently urging him on. Questions can wait.

"I was your standard 14 year old smart ass; always with a smart remark, too skinny, too tall, big, shiny metal braces, and glasses that really just begged to be broken. Last year of middle school and he'd had less and less to do with me, ever since it sunk in that I was supposed to start going to high school with him that fall. He'd barely spoken to me in months.

I didn't want to go to camp with him, so I totally tanked math intentionally. I'd skipped a grade, and I thought by flunking, maybe I'd be held back. Seems kinda dumb, hindsight being 20/20 and all that.

So, I got a summer with Ma and Pop working all the time, mostly alone, except for when I had to watch Sif, who was only two and just _so_ cranky. At the end of summer, I was so happy that Thor was finally going to come home, because I thought if I missed him, maybe he'd have missed me, too.

But he got off the bus, and he was different. He was bigger, like all shoulders and biceps, and blonder and tan like a surfer. He waved, all cool like, to all the other tan and blond counselors, and from that day on, he was _popular_. Like quarterback, prom king popular. And I was me. 

Every time I got into trouble, and I got into a lot of trouble, even after he graduated and went off to college, people would always ask 'why can't you be more like your brother?'

I used to want to scream I'm not even related by blood, but I couldn't make myself do that. Because if he wasn't my real brother, then Frigga wasn't my mom, and Odin wasn't my dad, or Sif my sister. We stopped talking for a long time, Thor and I. But a couple of years ago Nan got really sick. We all thought she was on her death bed, so when she asked us to make up, we couldn't refuse.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's been a long time since I've been truly grateful Thor is my brother. But, for the last 10 months or so, I've never been more thankful for him. I don't care that he's weird about his money, or into wheatgrass juice. I actually enjoy his company for the most part. And for the longest, I couldn't figure out why. 

You know something you've never said to me, not directly or by inference? Why can't I be more like Thor. You chose me, you... just stood there, in front of everyone, and you just - 

You make Deliverance jokes while we're sleeping outside in a spooky field, next to a river. You scrunch your nose right before you burp. You hold my hand during the scary parts of the horror movies you insist on watching, and I know that it's for me, but you pretend it's for you, that you're scared. You don't look through my sketchbooks, even though I know the curiosity is killing you. I love you for so much. Maybe most for how being with you let me change, just a little, but I'm in love with you because you never make me feel like I have to. Weird, huh?"

I'm not crying. I'm _not_.

Loki kisses my forehead, and I wonder if maybe he's my family now.

* * *

When there's a knock at the door, I'm surprised to see that it's Joe Jr. I'm also not entirely sure if I should be, I'd invited him, but what I mean is that he'd claimed he had other plans and wouldn't be able to make it. I'm not sure if it's ironic that he's wearing a classic 1940s Italian gangster costume or not, and since it makes my head hurt to contemplate, I decide it isn't. Or I might explode. "Where's Janice?"

"Oh, she's waiting in the car. Just dropping these off to you. They look important, but the mailguy left 'em in your old box. He's kind of a moron, that one, eh?"

He hands me a pair of thick folded envelopes. I glance at them quickly, leaning forward to give Joe Jr the half-hug that's much easier to give now that he has a girlfriend. Except I notice the return address. I fall forward and my chest presses provocatively on Joe Jr's arm for a second or two before he sets me carefully away from him. 

"I'm sorry, Hon, but you had your chance. I got a woman, I'm happy with now." He sounds so serious, and I can't help it, I giggle helplessly. "You ok, there, Darce? You look strange."

"I don't know yet. Ask me again later. Have fun!"

I slam the door closed and take a deep breath. The letters feel like they weigh a hundred pounds and I can barely lift them to find out which is oldest so I can open that one first. Jesus Heffernan Christ. This can't be happening. Or, alternatively, _of course_ this is happening. I have an apartment fucking full of people and I get news that may change my life.

I don't want to do this where someone might see me, so I head to the bedroom. I slip inside, about to take a nice, relaxing breath when I see it. 

Loki pushes his way through the door at that very moment, and we are both treated to the sight of Thor and Jane's final, acrobatic push towards bliss. I'm not sure if I'm glad that Thor pulled out, or if I'm just pissed that they couldn't just have gotten some condoms from the shelf over the bed. I'll have to change the sheets. On second thought... Fuck that. They're changing my sheets. 

Both Loki and I turn away, but it's really much too late. Our retinas are forever scarred. 

Loki coughs, because the couple have now collapsed on my previously clean sheets, and have yet to notice their hosts/audience. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy Jane and Thor jumping in surprise. "I was under the impression that you two pretty much hated each other," I say, mildly.

There's rustling of clothing and grunts as the two struggle to put away their respective genitals. Neither bothers to respond to my conversational gambit, they just blush and get out as quickly as possible, but not before I assure them that they will not be leaving until the sheets have been replaced.

I don't know if it's karma of some fucked up sort that has pulled those two together to desecrate my brand new mattress, but I fucking lose it. I laugh until I have tears streaming down my face, until my stomach hurts.

Loki joins in after a few shocked seconds of tormented silence, and we hold each other up while he hiccups "And you're gonna change those sheets!" like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard.

We wind down eventually and Loki is still smiling hugely when he asks me why I came in here in the first place. I'm still clutching the letters. Their unnatural weight in my hand is again immediately apparent. I hold them up helplessly, and he looks confused, until he takes them and sees the sender.

"Darcy, why is an Italian university sending you thick envelopes?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I might have to take another detour?  
>  I've got a plan, though. Trust me.


	21. Cake - to Have or Eat?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, choices and changes.

"I don't know, I haven't opened them yet," and it occurs to me that maybe it's not going to be _his_ thing that breaks us up. It's probably going to be _my_ thing.

He lifts a dark eyebrow, rolls up the envelopes and hands them to me. We have an apartment full of people, most of whom are Loki's friends. We also have Thor's emission drying on our sheets. _Ew_. I look the other way. 

"Well, are you going to?" he gestures to the envelopes in my hand.

I look down. 

I can't. 

Not now.

I want to have a good time. I'm having, or rather, _we_ 're having a party. I put the envelopes on the dresser and get on my tip-toes. He's stiff and reluctant as I try pulling him down to my level with a hand around the back of his neck. I tug harder and when he finally leans down, he totally doesn't oblige with any tongue.

I slap his chest, "Pull it together, man. We have a party to, uh, continue throwing, people to mortify for the first time of the rest our lives, friends to entertain, alcohol to drink responsibly. We'll deal with that later."

Grabbing his hand, I pull him out of our bedroom and into the living room. Thriller is on for the second time, so someone has messed with the playlist I spent _way_ too much time on, while my laptop was unattended. _Savage_ _monsters_.

He lets go of my hand and wanders over to his two oldest friends. I've heard about them, obviously, seen them on both Facebook and in Loki's old pictures, but I haven't met them before tonight. They live in other states, and they came into town for the weekend. I figured I had slam-dunked this whole first impression thing, but now, as the three of them huddle around the makeshift bar we set up earlier today, I have a less confident feeling.

I can deal with Thor thinking I'm a freaking Looney toon. He owes me, for a number of things, apparently. Loki's boys? All they know about me is whatever he's told them or what they might've heard through the grapevine. The thought of the type of gossip they may have been privy to makes me literally shudder, so I try not to consider it.

Shit. They're looking at me, all three of them, and their expressions are eerily similar in their curious appraisal of me.

Where is Thor, anyway? He'd be a good human shield while I get the music back on track.

* * *

It's four-thirty in the morning and almost everyone has left. Even Jane and Thor, who febreezed the shit out of my mattress before putting on the fresh clean sheets, departed sheepishly at least an hour ago. Actually, to be specific, only Loki's friends are left, and I think they're staying. Or maybe it's that, for them, the party is just getting started. They've lit something, and I sniff the air as I put away the last few food items that survived the board. Possibly a cigar, or...

I peek around the corner and, sure enough, they're passing around a blunt while Loki deals cards. 

I want to go back into the bedroom and open the letters, but not without Loki. Instead, I ask if they need anything before I head off to bed... "Water, Funyans?"

The guys start quoting Half-Baked while Loki shakes his head and gestures for me to come over. How he ended up with two friends who are at least as geeky about movies as I am, when he professes no great interest in that medium, save for tedious sub-titled indie films, is beyond me. He slips his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. He looks up at me when we're inches apart. "I love you," he says, so quietly I can't hear it over the other two coughing and giggling maniacally while watching YouTube videos of "I'm Sampson" and the other music from Half-Baked.

It still makes me feel my blood rush through my veins and my chest tighten when he says that. I'm not used to it, even after weeks of hearing it, and I wonder if I ever will. 

I bend over and kiss his cheek, and whisper it back to him before I stand up to go to bed.

* * *

There's something rattling in the kitchen and it wakes me up. Glancing over, I see Loki sprawled out across the mattress, face down on the pillow. He's snoring a little bit.

My alarm clock says it's 11:03am, so it's not inconceivable that someone might be moving around out there. Bruce or Tony? Quiet and witty or semi-dickish and arrogant, which will it be? One or both? I decide to delay finding out the answer until after a shower.

The best thing about this apartment is definitely the private bathroom that only connects to this bedroom. When I'm done with the usual morning routine, except for the facial scrub I used after sleeping in my makeup last night, Loki is already out of bed. He's raised the blinds and weak sunlight streams in. The envelopes are exactly where I left them last night. I can hear voices filtering through the closed door, but not enough to distinguish what exactly they are saying, beyond that whatever it is makes them laugh.

I put on sweat pants, a bra and a t-shirt I pull out at random from my stack in the closet. I take a deep breath and pointedly ignore the envelopes as I walk out of the bedroom. 

As soon as I am out of the bedroom, the smell of breakfast almost overwhelms me. I'm practically salivating when I take the few steps to the kitchen. With visions of coffee and smoked and cured meat dancing in my head, I grab a mug out of the cupboard and pick up the coffee pot. My disappointment knows practically no bounds when a single, tiny splash comes out instead of a stream.

I put on another pot, an involved process because Loki has relegated my wonderful coffee maker to storage, in favor of his annoying stovetop percolator. Sometimes he's such a fucking hipster, I'm surprised he hasn't grown an overly complicated mustache or started wearing suspenders. 

Setting the timer on the stove for 7 1/2 minutes rankles a little. I'm even more so when I join the men folk in the dining area and find a single, solitary piece of bacon remaining. Sure, there's eggs, but given the choice between the two, I'd choose bacon every time. The anger I feel is out of proportion to the, most likely, unintentional slights, so I wave and smile and make an allusion to needing tampons. I show myself out after changing into jeans and grabbing the envelopes and a jacket.

I end up at Jane's. I don't mean to wake her up, but I do. I also didn't mean to wake Thor up, but he's in a pretty mood despite that. In apology, I make coffee as they shower and put on clothes - and set Jane's home page on her Chrome app to a page on the Planned Parenthood site detailing the benefits of safe sex. I'd do the same for Thor, but he's actually got a password I can't guess, so I leave it be, before I lock it completely.

I don't comment as he gathers his stuff, the remnants of his costume - which appears to have been shredded at some point after they left, and sticks it in a bag. Somethings are best left uncontemplated. He sits down at Jane's kitchen table, accepts a cup of coffee gratefully, adds a lot of sugar, takes a sip and sighs like it's the best thing ever.

As content as he seems, I don't know how to broach this, but Jane's still in the bathroom, so now's my shot, "Look, Jane is, well, she's more than my friend and definitely more than my boss, so just... don't be a dick. She deserves better. Plus, it'd be really awkward to explain to your Nan that I had to kill you, so you know, there's that." I give him a smile I hope isn't excessively toothy or threatening over the rim of my cup as Jane wanders in. 

She accepts the cup with much less equanimity than Thor, which I expected. Jane's not really a morning person. It takes a few sips before she realizes that I am not just some coffee dispensing fairy, but Jane finally blinks at me as if seeing me for the first time, and asks me why the fuck I'm there.

When Jane snorts at my explanation, it's not a surprise. Thor kissing Jane's temple as he gets up to leave is. He says, "Nah, dude," when I ask if he doesn't want to stay, "This is none of my business." I try not to look as Jane and Thor nuzzle and kiss their way through their good byes.

"So, you and Coma-guy, huh?" slips out before I can stop it.

She shrugs, but I can tell it's a front just by her smug smile, "You know I like 'em big."

I goggle at her, trying to wrap my mind around what just came out of her mouth, when she gasps and presses a hand to her chest in horror, "Height wise, Darcy. Jeez, what you must think of me to have gone straight to the gutter with that comment. I know that look." She winks at me and smiles slyly before sipping her coffee delicately. "So, why are you here, instead of enjoying your boyfriend?"

I pull the envelopes out of my jacket and put them on the table between us. Jane picks them up and whistles when she sees the sender, "Oh." Her lips twist, "Oh, honey, this could be big."

"I know, Jane. Joe Jr dropped them off last night, and I meant to open them with Loki, but that plan was put on hold after, uh, finding you and Thor fornicating on my bed." Jane blushes a little, and I find myself feeling better. "And this morning, he made breakfast for his friends, who'd spent the night, by the way. They'd only left me a pitiful slice of bacon and like a sip of coffee. I got so mad about it, Jane, and I don't really know why, so I came here. I tried to open them alone, but I can't. I can't make myself. Can you do it for me, please?"

She looks dubious, but sticks her finger under the flap and rips the oldest one open first. There's a stack of glossy brochure type things clipped to a couple of sheets of paper. Jane sits absolutely still while she glances over the pages, and looks at me with a completely blank expression when she finally puts the stack down.

"So?" I ask, hesitantly.

"You're invited to attend classes at this place for the next two semesters. Jesus, Darcy, you're eligible for a scholarship in Italy. Oh my god." She pauses, and looks both proud and excited for me, but also anxious, "What are you going to do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, guys! It's almost over...
> 
> I am always nervous at this point of the story, because, for me anyway, endings are harder than anything else. (Fingers and toes are firmly crossed that I don't cock up the next chapter.)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and hope you enjoy.


	22. Planes, Trains and Automobiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we leave our couple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I drove myself a little nutty with this chapter.  
> Fine.  
> A lot nutty.  
> I only hope you like it.  
> Happy 2016!

It's funny what you get used to.

Without even realizing it, or intending to, or even wanting to, in the months with Loki, I'd gotten used to him next to me in bed. I'd grown accustomed to the way he'd spoon me in the middle of the night, the way his breath sometimes tickled my neck in the morning and woke me up, the bump of his legs against mine as he sprawled across the mattress.

I don't think it's exaggerating to say that making the choice to take the scholarship, even though it wasn't even for a full year, was one of the most difficult decisions I've had to make since Dad died. I mean, my status quo at the time was pretty excellent; nice apartment, great boyfriend, awesome cat, enjoyable sex - with another person - essentially whenever I wanted. Why chase after some nebulous dream and upset all of that?

I'd sent applications and essays to something like 15 universities across Europe on the off chance that I might get to have a once in a lifetime opportunity. All of them were rejected before there was even a hint of a relationship between Loki and I, and I didn't even consider that something might come of any of those waitlisted letters. I'm just not that lucky. Except, when Jane opened that letter for me, it didn't feel like luck.

We didn't fight about it. After I told him the news, he was the one who, for all intents and purposes, convinced me to go after it. Not once was he ever anything less than supportive of me leaving, which I both appreciated and was strangely bothered by.

In the first few days after my formal acceptance, I kept trying to get him to come with me, to entice him to join my international adventure. He couldn't, he said. There were too many responsibilities in Chicago and he had taken on so many orders lately that he'd be busy with that for months.

Plus there was Mogwaii. My cat was getting old, no matter how kittenish he still acted. Would he even survive a transatlantic flight? How pissed would he be after spending that much time in his carrier? No, he couldn't join me, no matter how much being apart from him would freaking kill me. It would be better if he stayed, and with Loki, someone who's presence didn't inspire evil deeds, in familiar surroundings.

I tried not to be heartbroken by Loki's decision, by the sheer logic of the reasons he had to stay - tried to be happy that he was focusing more on his so-called "side business". That he was enjoying, rightfully, so much success.

Unfortunately, it meant that he spent more time at his warehouse building stuff and much less time at home. I saw him in the mornings, on the Thursdays I could juggle an evening off for dinner with his family and most Sundays. I love Loki, and was so fucking proud of him, how talented he was, that he was doing so well, still excited by the fact that he could craft functional art from a pile of wood, _but_ , and isn't there always a but? But I missed him. I wasn't even gone yet, and I missed his company, his face, his voice.

 _What would happen when an entire ocean and several timezones separated us?_ I stuck that thought, that question, all the way in the back of my cluttered mind to be contemplated at some unknown point in the future, because I really, _really_ didn't want to jinx my scholarship or my relationship.

Of course, Sif heard the news sooner rather than later. She was so excited for me, she started speaking to me exclusively in Italian. Cute, but, I didn't speak Italian. I mean, not enough to hold any sort of conversation, which seemed like it could be a little bit of a problem, but enough to know _va fangool_ isn't something to say in mixed company. _Thanks, Tony Soprano!_ With her generous help, and the aid of a copy of Rosetta Stone, I eventually gained a measure of proficiency that I sincerely hoped would mean I didn't accidentally tell someone my asshole needed a good bleaching. 

When Thanksgiving rolled back around, I looked Jane straight in the eye and told her not to dare schedule me to work on Christmas Eve or Day. She promised me, after grumbling under her breath, that of course she wouldn't do that. I could tell by the way her lips pinched, that she'd absolutely intended on doing that, but I didn't hold it against her. After all of the years we've worked together, friendship notwithstanding, with me working nearly every single holiday, I was previously an easy _get_. A slot already filled on a schedule no one really wanted to work. Well, I'm alone no more, boss-lady! I have plans _and_ a family. Which... how odd.

* * *

It is strange as fuck to sit next to Jane at the Odinsson clan Christmas Eve Feast. Stranger still to have to Loki and Thor sitting across from us, bickering over who gets the last roll. That's not to say it isn't fun, because it is, especially looking through the picture albums Hilda and Heimdall drag out to torture the Odinsson's with. We drink and eat until bursting, and when it's time to exchange gifts, I cry when I unwrap an enormous box that turns out to be a proper luggage set that everyone chipped in for.

When the festivities wind down, we wander super casual-like up the stairs to Loki's old room. It's still mostly as he'd left it when he went off to college. Books, magazines, model airplanes, and tiny, obviously handmade catapults and siege towers were organized in tidy rows on shelves. I spy a few sweaters and old shoes that still lurk in the closet as I spin around trying to take it all in. I've never had an opportunity to come in here and it feels like every new thing I notice fills in some sort of blank space in my knowledge of him.

I startle when his hands come to rest on my waist as he nuzzles my neck and steer us towards his twin bed. An old plaid quilt span it's narrow breadth and I recognize it from a few of the pictures we looked at downstairs. 

"You know," he whispers into my skin, "you're the only girl I've ever been allowed to close my bedroom door for." I can feel his gri as his hands find the hem of my sweater and start tugging at it. "Am I finally going to get lucky on this bed?"

I grin as I shuck off the sweater and the skirt, "I'm pretty easy, so probably."

"You know the whole It Gets Better thing? If I could tell 12yr old me one thing, I think it would be, don't worry bud, there'll be boobs. _Glorious boobs_. Come 'ere, hot stuff." 

His bed is tiny. It also creaks alarmingly as we shift trying to find the sweet spot, the one where neither of us is about to fall off. 

* * *

My morning issues are nothing compared to Jane's. She's just not good until the first cup of coffee, so I knock on Thor's door (helpfully marked as such, with a no parents allowed sticker still clinging to the frame) after I get up and hand the creature that answers a cup - black, four sugars. It's Christmas morning and I'm feeling generous, what can I say?

Loki is still face first in his pillow, something I've learned means that he wants to sleep longer, so I leave yet another cup of coffee, this one on his nightstand. The smell will get him up sooner or later. I stroke his hair - it still thrills me that I can do that, and I'm pretty sure it always will.

It's exactly a year since Loki and I met, and there's nothing I would change. Well, that's a lie, but it worked out in the end and that counts for something. 

I'm leaving in five days. Have to work tomorrow and the next day, but then... Six whole months in Rome. It's a dream come true, made all the sweeter by the fact that I did it on my own.

I say my good mornings to the family, and Sif gives me a twinkling look over the rim of her hot cocoa, like she knows exactly what happened in the room across the hall from hers, and with all the creaking the bed made last night, she probably does. I blush.

There's a spot at the dining room table that's mine now. I've never really had one of those, at least not in a house like this, so full of people, family. Sure, I have a spot on the couch back at the apartment, and my side of the bed, of course, but this... This is different. The Odinsson's have made a space for me in their family, at their table, and it's better than any gift. 

Sitting with my cup of coffee, I chat with Odin, who doesn't understand why I feel the need to go all the way to Italy and for something so readily available right here. He worries for me, that I'll be all alone over there, with no family to look after me. Frigga comes from behind, sets a plate of bacon and toast in front of me, pats my head, and tells Odin to shush. I've got it under control, and that I can always call if it comes down to it, that I'm a smart girl who's been taking care of herself for a long time.

Odin mutters under his breath, and Sif kinda snorts at whatever he said. "It'll be fine, Dad. She's only going to be gone for 6 months. She'll be back by the fourth of July, and we'll have a party and she'll bring presents," she winks at me.

Loki comes in at that exact moment, drops a kiss on the top of my head, just casually, and sits down next to me. He grabs a piece of bacon off my plate, chewing thoughtfully. As the talk turns to estate sales, Sif outlines an idea for using Google alerts to generate leads easier, and it occurs to me, as I watch her talking with such animation, that it should have been Odinsson and Family on the side of their trucks. She's the one who wants to be a part of the business, who wants to drive it forward with new ideas and technology, and as I glance at Loki I think he realizes it, too.

We end up heading out before Thor and Jane even make it downstairs, but Hilda makes sure to catch us under the mistletoe before we leave. I adore her, but it's easier to do that when she isn't cackling _slip_ _her some tongue_ from the top of the stairs. 

Loki dips me low and makes it a show. It still leaves me breathless and red after, but Hilda just whistles and hoots _that's the spirit_ before she blows us kisses of her own on our way out the door.

The ride home is pretty much silent, but his hand is warm on mine and that's enough for now.

* * *

He brought it up yesterday - the possibility that our relationship wouldn't survive the distance. It's undeniably a dick move, but I can't help but to understand where he's coming from. Still, I think that it shows a stunning lack of faith in either of us. In the end, I agreed, we weren't broken up, we were just on a break. Besides, he said, it's not me, it's him. 

So I guess I'm not supposed to tell him this, but I can't help it. There are any number of unknown terrors in my future, the most immediate being, of course, _leaving on a jet plane,_ so I might as well, "Love you," I murmur against his lips. We're not supposed to be kissing, either, but maybe the 'break' starts when I go through security. God knows, we fucked like rabbits after his little proclamation and the resulting fight, and I know for a fact that he whispered how much he loved me after he thought I went to sleep.

"I know," he says, a small smile tugging his lips upward.

I snort out a laugh, involuntarily, because this - leaving, not being together - hurts so much it reminds me why I'd been such a loner after Dad, "I can't believe you just Solo'd me."

The line inches forward and I grip his hand tightly. Loki looks away, and I see something I don't recognize on his face. We have minutes left, and even with the physical contact, he feels miles away already.

I decided I'm not going to cry, I decided the instant he brought up how he doesn't expect me to forego whatever life throws at me while I'm away, but the pressure behind my eyes might make a liar out of me. I'm pretty sure he wasn't trying to hurt me when he said that, nonetheless, it's bitter to leave him as a friend when he's been so much more than that the last almost 6 months.

It's my turn to go through the metal detector, to lay my bags on the conveyor belt for a trip through an x-ray machine. Someone pushes me from behind, and I step aside to let them go ahead of me. Loki presses me against him, and I can't help but to cling as a veritable tide of humanity sweeps by. He lets go, and I have to force myself to do the same. This is way harder than I thought it would be. 

I have to go, I have to let go.

This is gonna be great.

Europe.

Italy.

Rome.

I hesitate, clinging, holding fast, unwilling to allow my fingers to loosen.

_Get it together - it's not like you're going off to war!_

He's still standing there when I get my bags on the other side. He raises a hand and I do the same. I turn and walk away, down the concourse, away from Loki.

I look back again, because, apparently, I can't get enough of torturing myself, and he's still standing there, barely visible through the crowd. It squeezes something in my chest painfully, making my feet take those steps, losing sight of him in the sea of people.

The lady at the check-in counter at my assigned gate is doing the best she can on a busy day at a shit job, which is to say she is in hell and is making sure everyone else is, too. I sympathize. At least I had bullet proof glass to keep the public out of my face. All she had was the power to make the boarding, and seat placement, and therefore this flight like something out of Dante's Inferno.

An hour later, I was waiting for my boarding group to be called when my cell dinged in my pocket. I fished it out and swiped the screen, expecting something other than what I got. It's from Loki.

_Check the front pouch of your carry-on._

"Now boarding Group G. All remaining passengers and rows 27 to 42 now boarding."

I stick my phone back in my pocket, gather up my things, and make my way to the gate. I've got my ticket and passport in my hand, ready to be handed over, and when I do, I'm shocked that the gate attendant tells me that I'll have to check my bag before I get on the plane. I try to stutter out a protest, but she winds a big red tag on the handle and moves along to the next person in line, telling me to call customer service when I land if I have a problem with it.

Fuck yeah, I've got a problem with it. My carry-on contains my valuables, such as they are, and also something mysterious from my sort of, mostly boyfriend, half ex, whatever he is. I can't wait 8 hours plus to find out what that is. Flying around in a tin can built, no doubt, by uncaring and cheap subcontractors should be torture enough, but add paranoia and uncertainty to the equation and it would be unbearable. I round a corner in the covered retractable walkway, and yank the tag off, crumpling it into a ball and shoving it into a random pocket.

I tug my bag along behind me, putting my most haughty expression on my face and prepare to waltz past the flight crew and make my way through the plane to my special little spot in steerage.

Instead of the flight crew and the curved hull of the plane, when I turn the corner, there's a little man in coveralls standing in front of a door and yet more hallway. How freaking long is this goddamned hallway, anyway? I can see stairs leading to the tarmac through the window in the door. He's got a headset on and he's obviously expecting me, gesturing for me to step out of line.

I don't know why, but something inside breaks. I start sobbing like a two year old. I try to speak over my hiccuping wails, try to hunch my shoulders up and in, facing away from the people meandering along behind me, to shield myself from their scrutiny. I'd rather not have my meltdown on YouTube, but I can't form full sentences, just words, dribbling out of my mouth like the tears and snot running down my face: _leaving, cat, boyfriend, or ex, dunno, home, oh god, why do this, stupid, miss, already, surprise, bag, don't make me, please, keep, bag._

If I hadn't been hysterical, I could've died from embarrassment quite happily. Fortunately, though, the little man was remarkably sympathetic for someone who dealt with people all day. He gives me a slightly crumpled Kleenex out of his pocket, sticks a big green sticker on my bag and sends me on my way. I'm left with the impression I am probably not the craziest person he's dealt with today.

I am sure that my face is splotchy, and my eyes feel like I've scrubbed them with sandpaper, but I'm so glad I get to keep my bag, I don't care.

Nodding when the flight attendant tells me that my seat is next to the window on the right side of the plane _all the way in the back_ , I gently push through the crowds to get to the back. All the way in the back. At least the toilets are right there, so that's good.

Before I sling my carry-on into the overhead bin, I zip open the front pouch, and dig out the slim notebook Loki had apparently left for me. After wedging my backpack under my seat, I put on my seat belt, and switch my phone to airplane mode. It feels like it takes forever for the rest of the passengers to get settled, and for the plane to start moving.

Squashed in a space so excruciatingly small even my squat legs bang against the seatback in front of me, I grip my one available armrest tightly as the plane swings into position and the engines make an alarming whine as we prepare for take off.

Shutting my eyes, I try not to pray audibly. Not so sure I'm successful, but it doesn't matter when I finally pry my eyelids open and see the ground so far below, all the way down there. _Christ Almighty._ Rather than freak myself out any further, I pull the shade down and open the notebook. It's a journal. Or an appointment book? My first reaction is that I'm not 10, so I don't need a diary - my second is that I'm not 50 and I keep track of important dates in my phone. 

Why would he give this to me?

I turn the book over in my hands, trying not to feel disappointed. I'm about to shove it in my backpack and take out my kindle, but something makes me actually check it out. I start at the first page. 

 _The Adventures of Darcy Lewis_ is written in his slanted handwriting. He's drawn a road, trailing off to the side of the page with a fat, fluffy cat sitting in the middle, facing away from the viewer. The faint impression of stripes makes it a dead ringer for Mogs. It's a bit more whimsical than what I ever expected from him, but... Aside from the one time I went through his sketchbook that first night, I've respected that boundary, and haven't intruded into his drawings. My eyes prickle and I blink to clear them.

I turn the page, and there's a small drawing of a Vespa on the bottom left corner. It has puffs of smoke drifting up the page from the exhaust. I run my finger over it, and miss him more than I thought could be possible.

* * *

I can't believe how fast the last six months have gone by.

When I first stepped off the plane, I was miserable. Just homesick and lonely, positive that I would fail at everything, and be forced home with my tail tucked between my legs before a month was out. 

It was hard, at first, but school was a great distraction. Plus, technology helped me keep in touch with everyone, even Mogwaii. Eventually, I stopped being so morose and up my own ass. I even had fun, made a few friends and flirted back at a few handsome men a few times. It never progressed to anything beyond drinks, because I was still stuck on Loki. Besides, we hadn't broken up, not exactly. We were on a _break_. The fucking strangest, most codependent break in history.

Doing this has made me reconsider what I'm capable of - changed my perspective you could say. Being here, where you literally live in and walk on and through history is surreal. Being so far from home and everything, everyone I was familiar with, even the language I speak, was difficult, especially at first, but my horizons seem wider now.

I got excellent grades, because while work makes Johnny a dull boy, it does tend to accomplish things. I am welcome to stay, have qualified for another scholarship, the friends I've made want me to remain exactly where I am, but this is my last day in Rome. After Florence, I'm going home to Chicago to finish school come what may. I've come too far now to stop or give into fear.

My stuff, more crap accumulated than should have been possible in such a short time, has been boxed up and is waiting for the shipping company to come pick it up. It's costing a pretty penny, but I'm getting a corporate rate thanks to Odinsson and Family, Inc.

Wanda said she'd make sure it all got off alright, and I trusted that she would. I give her a last hug, pick up my backpack and sweater and walk down the too narrow stairs for the last time. The bell over the door tinkles when I open it, and one last time when I close it.

The bus is crowded, and they don't really do air conditioning on Italian public transportation, so sweat starts trickling down my spine despite the wind blowing through the open windows. I swap the position of my backpack to sit my chest - I'd rather not get pickpocketed on my last day here. 

I'd talked to Loki last week and he'd ended our conversation with _I'll see you soon._ I hope that he meant it. My fingers seek out the shape of my journal in the front pocket, just to make sure it was there. Reassured, I grab a pole for support and sway with the rhythm of the bus all the way to the train station.

The rail system in Europe amazes me. It's mostly punctual, modern, incredibly efficient and most of all _fast_. I'll be in Florence in two hours.

It's a dream come true. Literally.

It _is_ , even though Loki isn't here yet. He'd written it in the journal on today's page, _italo_ : _Rome - Florence_ , I checked it again this morning, made sure I had the time right. 12:45. Right next to a little sketch of the Hogwarts Express I recognized from my Harry Potter pyjama pants. 

I've come to the conclusion that the journal is pretty much the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. I haven't quite managed to put into words how much I appreciate it beyond _Thank you, I love it_ , but I am very much looking forward to an opportunity to show him. Hurt from months ago seems distant, when viewed from this point. We've talked almost every day, and if anything, I know more clearly that he accepts me for me than I'd ever guessed.

I'm vibrating at the thought that I get to see him again. My hands tremble, and words on a screen can't hold my attention, especially since I keep sweeping my attention over the platform for a familiar face or gait or voice. I unlock my phone - it's been stubbornly silent all day, but I'm checking what time it is, not if I got any new messages. Totally.

I try not to be disappointed that the final boarding notice sounds over the speakers, because he's going to be here. I'm sure of it.

I find the Smart class carriage, which is the cheapest, and am again taken aback by how comfortable and spacious the layout is. Not for the last time do I wish that I could take one of these home to the States, and not a plane.

There's several pairs of empty seats, and I choose one in the middle - out of habit, I suppose. I drape my sweater on the seat next to me, the one next to the window. The train shudders into motion, and I try not to let my heart sink. It's not as if I can't enjoy Florence on my own, or that he might not meet me there. Anyway, I've pretty much got the layout of the city memorized, and I certainly know what sights I must see while I'm there. I've had a list since I was eight.

Staring out the window, I contemplate whether to stay at a hotel, which I have reserved, or save the cash and take advantage of the excellent cancellation policy it offered in favor of a much cheaper hostel. I take out my kindle, hop on the extremely affordable WiFi, and start to research my options for accommodations.

"Scusi," a soft, deep voice, immediately familiar, says.

Steeling myself, I turn and face him. "Oh my god you cut your hair!" I blurt at the same time as he says, "Wow, you look -,"

We laugh, but it's weird and uncomfortable, and it stops almost immediately. I can't stop staring at him. His hair is held in a stub of a tail, and I wonder how it brushes his jaw when loose.

"Do you mind?" he asks, gesturing to the seat I've draped my sweater over.

"Of course not," I hesitate for some unknown reason. Struck dumb, I guess. God, he's good looking.

It's like my brain is working twice as slow as normal and my response time is off, because even though I say that, I still don't move my sweater or bag. When I finally realize why he's just standing there, it's like the rushing sound in my head is a toilet flushing all my fantasies about how this reunion would turn out down the drain. This isn't how I pictured this going at all, and I move my crap out of the way, belatedly.

When the stuff is properly stowed, he leans in to hug me, but I'm not moving the right way, the train trembles briefly, and I get a face full of his shoulder instead. I pat his back awkwardly and we disengage, each of us looking at the other. I don't know what is on my face, and I can't read what's on his, but, "God, I missed you."

He smiles, my heart kicks into overdrive, and then he draws a finger across my cheek, "Yeah, me too."

I don't care how strange this is, how different it is from how I imagined any of the outcomes of this moment, I still want him in a way that grabs me by the throat. He's here, and does anyone care about the rest? I don't. I grab his neck, pull him down to my level and kiss him before I have a chance to think twice about it. 

Everything falls away. Hugging is very apparently not our thing, but we've got the kissing thing down pretty pat.

He breaks away abruptly, and looks at me, just stares, for long enough to make me feel awkward all over again. I love the food here, but I feel like I perpetually have basil or oregano or pepper or spinach stuck between my teeth. I close my lips and run my tongue over my teeth, just in case, "What? Why're you staring at me like that? Do I have something on my face, in my teeth?"

Loki shakes his head, "I said something stupid before you left." He gives me the crooked smile I've always had a weakness for, "I don't know what I was thinking. I probably wasn't, but in any case, I was wrong. As I've been reminded ever since you left. Uhm, I love you. When you come back, will you come home? You know, with me? I don't want you to feel obligated, but I -,"

I kiss him again.

Huh. This is what happiness tastes like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this fic in July, with a note that it wasn't seasonally appropriate. It grew from a throw away fic I started as a palate cleanser - 4 chapters MAX! - something to give me some distance from the other fic I was writing, (which even now languishes and torments me), to something I really love. I adore these characters, and even more, I adore all of you for inspiring me to embroider them to a sort of fullness, with details and a depth I didn't really even consider.  
> Thanks, everyone. I hope you'll join me on my other TaserTricks adventures or my brand new and shiny tumblr, which is found at [yatzuaka.tumblr.com](http://yatzuaka.tumblr.com/)  
> So yeah. Gotta say it: Readers, you're awesome.  
> And since I am doing the gratitude thing, it would be remiss of me if I didn't give all of my love to some very special people:  
> Shadows_of_Shemai  
> MayaSerena  
> Pomack78  
> Modernize  
> CanterburyTales (yes, you too!)  
> You guys. You guys. OMG, YOU GUYS. I appreciate you more than you know. I learned how to gif here on ao3, I realized that I maybe apologize too much for no reason, I got so much support even when it felt undeserving, you let me rant and make stupid Barbie Girl jokes. You're all so special to me. I wish you nothing but the best, and hope we stay connected in some way.  
> #WhenTheNoteIsAChapter  
> #NotSorry  
> #WhyIsSuchATerribleSongSoCatchy?


End file.
